Fortune's Favours
by Elanor3
Summary: King Henry and his favorite duke get a little closer than best friends normally are, complicating matters even more than they are already. Covers season 1 & 2. Warning: Slash & some slight d/s elements in later chapters
1. I Fortune's Wheel

**Title:** Fortune's Favours  
**Pairing:** Charles Brandon / Henry Tudor  
**Rating:** M for now  
**Story Summary: ** The story follows the storyline of the show, except for the fact that the King and his favorite Duke get a little closer in its course than in the original, making everything even more complicated. ;-)  
**Disclaimer:** The Tudors belong to Showtime, I have absolutely now claim on the characters, the storyline etc.  
**A/N:** I know the Tudors are in many points not exactly what you'd call historically accurate, still, in this fanfiction I decided to go with the Showtime version to avoid confusions.  
Special thanks to my dear friend Narya for constant beta-reading and error correction as well as answering my annoying questions and enduring my constant drivel about The Tudors.

**Chapter Summary:** Lady Allison Kesworth comes to court as a lady-in-waiting to the Queen and soon attracts the attention of both Charles Brandon and King Henry...  
**Chapter Warnings:** None, except that the beginning is a little "Mary-Sueish". Please don't be put off by that, it's more of a joke. You'll see. ;-)

_If love now reigned as it hath been  
And were rewarded as it has seen,  
Noble men then would sure ensearch  
All ways whereby they might it reach,  
But envy reigned with such disdain  
And caused lovers outwardly to refrain,  
Which puts them to more and more  
Inwardly most grievous and sore.  
The fault in whom I cannot set,  
But let them tell which love doth get--_

_To lovers I put now sure this case:  
Which of their loves doth get them grace?_

_And unto them which doth it know  
Better than do I, I think it so._

_~ Henry VIII__ Tudor, King of England ~_

**_I_**

**_Fortune's Wheel_**

Fortune's wheel goes round and round and some times you're up, some you're down.

As for Lady Allison Kesworth, she was sure of being on her way straight up. After all, she was young, people had told her she was a striking beauty and, most importantly, she had made her way to the heart of the kingdom, where a glance or a quick smile could make and seal a good fortune. Or at least she had been told so. There were a lot of rumours about the young king's court that went from glorious tales about immense wealth and grandiose feasts to whispers about unspeakable debaucheries.

Curiously she glanced across the courtyard and the great stone building of Whitehall Palace, illuminated by the glowing sunlight of a summer's evening and bustling with live like a bee hive. Grooms and lads were hurrying from one building to another, some pretty maids stuck their heads together giggling, and an important looking old man with heavy gold chains around his necks was climbing out of a carriage while some boys were eager to take care of the horses. Allison was just about to wonder what all the trouble was about when she realized that it probably was the normal day routine at the King's court. It made her feel a little dizzy and it might have been because of that and the fact that she was trying to take in as much as possible while avoiding to stare like a stupid little country bumpkin that she missed the clacking of hooves right behind her, until an amused, deep voice startled her out of her thoughts.

"Lady. You look a little lost."

Allison just managed not to spin around but to turn her head in a thorough gesture of mild surprise. Her green eyes locked with the grey ones of a definitely handsome young man in a hunting outfit, leaning casually on the withers of his horse and smiling down at her.

"Seems you still found me, sir," she answered with a coquettish glance.

"Then I shall be a lucky man. And since I've found you, will you tell me your name?"

His smile was contagious and she couldn't help but reply it. "Allison Kesworth, sir. I am to be one of Her Majesty's ladies in waiting."

They were disrupted by an impatient call coming from two other young men sitting on their horses not far away from them. "He, Charles! Are you coming already?!"

Allison's new acquaintance sighed and then slightly bowed to her before taking up the reins again. "Well, I'll hope to see a little more of you soon, Lady Kesworth."

She curtsied and watched him leaving the courtyard with his friends, triumphantly noticing him glancing back at her for a short moment. Her introduction to court at least seemed to start very promising.

"Lady Kesworth?" A young woman with dark hair and the light yellow dress and hairdo of Queen Katherine's ladies had approached her. "Be welcome at court. I'm Lady Lindmoor, but just call me Margaret."

When Allison followed her towards the palace, she couldn't restrain her curiosity. "Margaret, that handsome young gentleman I was talking to just before I met you… who was he?"

"Oh, you mean Mr. Charles Brandon." A little smile flicked across Margaret's lips. "Yes, he's handsome and on top of that one of the closest friends of the king. However, if I were you, I'd be a little careful. I mean," her voice sank to a conspiratorial whisper, "Her Majesty's ladies are not _supposed_ to flirt with the men, you know?"

"I understand," Allison replied, biting her lip in an amused grin and then overwhelming the other young woman with lots of curious questions about life at court.

The light-hearted warning was forgotten in an instant.

* * *

"Who is she?"

"Who does Your Majesty mean?"

"The blonde in the green dress talking to Mr. Wodesmere right now."

"I do not know, Majesty. She must be new at court," Anthony said with a shrug. "Should I find out for you?"

Henry absent-mindedly nodded his approval, without averting his gaze even for a second. She had caught his eye the moment he had entered the hall and while mechanically nodding and barely listening to Katherine who had told him something about the princess – mindless small talk only women were able to – his real attention had always been focused on her, her graceful dancing moves, the soft blond curls under her hairnet shimmering in the firelight and the way she had coquettishly lowered her eyes when their gazes had met for an instant over the heads of the crowd. All together, that woman was certainly worth a look and probably a lot more. Now that the Queen had finally retired for the evening, he felt intrigued enough to find out.

"She is Lady Allison Kesworth," Anthony reported when he finally returned, "one of the Queen's ladies in waiting, but has only been for a week or something at court. It is said the Kesworths suffer some kind of financial shortages and therefore Lady Kesworth has asked the Queen if she may sent their oldest daughter to court – officially for her education as a Lady, unofficially…"

"… as bait", the King smirked.

"If Your Majesty likes to put it that way…"

"A very pretty bait, however. I must admit, I feel tempted to swallow it." Henry softly laughed as he watched her curtsy in front of her latest dancing partner. "I only wonder if she's prepared for such a catch?"

He didn't stay at the feast for too long any more but returned to his own Privy Chamber soon. The day had been long and filled with a lot of boring political issues and decisions as well as many people who wanted this or that… Henry felt that he just couldn't stand people around him for the rest of the evening anymore and he desperately longed for a little diversion. Impatiently drumming his fingers on the window board he could barely restrain himself from running back and forth like a hungry lion being trapped in a cage.

Finally the door opened and one of his grooms bowed respectfully. "Lady Allison Kesworth, Your Majesty."

_That was about time._

However, he stood perfectly still, casually leaning against a dresser when she entered and knelt down, her pretty head bowed deliciously, and he just nodded curtly at his groom to leave them alone. When the door had closed behind the young man he finally moved, slowly coming toward her and lifting her chin with a gentle hand.

"Lady Kesworth. I'm delighted."

"Majesty…" The sight of her wide open, green eyes made him smile.

"I thought it was about time we get to know each other better, don't you, Lady Kesworth…?"

* * *

"That bitch! Is it true?"

"Of course it is true. John told me that she came to His Majesty's chambers last night and the night before. What do you think she was doing there, playing chess with him?"

"So she's going to be his mistress now?" Lady Jane's eyes widened in utter disbelief.

"I heard rumours she's going to be, yes…"

"What in the holy name of Christ did she do in the week or so she's here? Ripping her clothes off and throwing herself naked at his feet?"

"I don't know," Margaret shrugged. "Maybe it's not her fault though…"

"I wouldn't bet on it. Haven't you seen her flaunting around with her nose so high as if she were the Queen herself?" Mary threw in. "Poor Queen Katherine! Everyone knows the King keeps his mistresses, but among Her Majesty's Ladies… it's a shame!"

"I have to admit I feel responsible for Lady Allison's behaviour," Margaret muttered guiltily. "Maybe I should have prepared her better or…"

"Oh, I'd say she was well prepared," Jane called out. "Far too well, if you ask me."

"Still, we should first try to speak with her," Margaret decided. "If she's really the King's new mistress, she will probably not be able to get out of it… even if she wanted to," she added in the face of Jane's disdainful gaze. "But at least she should behave a little more discreetly."

"Alright, let's have a talk with Allison," Mary agreed. "Is she in her room?"

"Since the Queen is at confession alone and she is not here, I suppose so. At least if she's not with the King," Jane said tartly.

Lady Allison was indeed not with the King, however, she was also not alone. Mary was just about to knock at the door when she stopped at the sound of a definitely male voice inside the room. The other two Ladies had heard it as well and they exchanged excited glances. Jane sank to her knees and pressed an ear against the door after hastily looking left and right, but there was no one else on the floor.

_"Oh, Allison, should a modest girl from the countryside behave like this?" A playful reproach, accompanied with a female, lustful sigh. "You know what? I think you've lied to me."_

_"I did?" A soft chuckle, then a little gasp. "In what way?"_

"Who is it?" Mary whispered, but Jane shook her head wildly. "Shhh!"

_The answer was too low to be audible but Allison laughed breathlessly in reply. "If I am, it is all but your fault, Charles." And then, teasingly, "They've warned me about you, you know?" _

_"And you chose not to listen to them? Naughty, naughty girl…" Soft rustling of clothes and hasty movements. "Mhm, let me see, what do we have here?"_

The rest was all soft laughter, soft creaking and lustful sounds. Jane silently withdrew from the door and beckoned the other two ladies to a nearby corner.

"She's in there with Brandon," she whispered, her dark eyes gleaming in excitement.

"What?"

"No!"

Margaret started to giggle and Mary threw an indignant gaze at her but couldn't help to join the laughter.

"In the name of Jesus, first the King and then Brandon? She's really a bitch."

"We shouldn't laugh," Margaret tried to calm herself. "She's really a shame… for all of us! It's scandalous how she behaves!"

"No, it's useful," Jane objected and was met with two questioning glances.

"Useful, Lady Jane?" Margaret asked piqued. "How in all the world shall it be useful to us when one of our fellow Ladies behaves like a whore?"

Jane only smiled, unimpressed. "Because she has just handed us a very good chance to get rid of her on a silver plate."

* * *

"How many cards, Anthony?"

"Make that two."

"Very well. Charles?"

"Pass."

A knock on the door interrupted the four young men and their card game when a blond man in the royal livery of one of the King's grooms entered. "Mr. Charles Brandon? His Majesty demands to see you."

"At this time?" Charles furrowed his brow and his eyes flicked to the long case clock in the corner. It had already struck eleven and the flames in the fireplace were slowly dying down. When the groom just shrugged, he sighed and put his cards down. "Very well then."

The floors of the Palace were quite cold after the comfortable warmth of having a fireplace right behind the back and Charles rubbed his arms to dispel the feeling of chill. "Pity, I just had a lucky hand. Did His Majesty say why he wanted to see me?"

"I'm afraid he didn't, sir," the groom answered politely. He didn't seem overly distressed, so Charles concluded it couldn't be too serious. Maybe the King had one of his unpredictable mood swings and needed someone to talk or just to hang out all night with a flagon of wine. However, when it came to Henry, you never knew what you'd have to deal with.

The young man led him first into the Presence Chamber, then briefly exchanged a few quiet words with another one of the grooms, before bowing again to Charles. "Mr. Brandon, since the king is still occupied, he asks you to wait in his study for him."

_Occupied? _

Charles frowned but still nodded, and the groom led him through the parlour into the study with its long mahogany table. The fireplace was kindled, bathing the room in soft, comfy light and warmth. He had just entered the room, idly strolling towards the fireplace, when he heard voices behind the light curtain separating the study from Henry's more private rooms. And the moment he recognized both voices he froze in his tracks.

"Allison, Allison. I have to admit that I thought about you a lot recently." Henry's voice was low and seductive, yet Charles understood every word with perfect clarity. "Our most recent hours together were indeed very much to my liking. What about you, dear?"

"They were to my liking as well, Majesty."

A short pause, just the soft falling of footsteps and the cracking of the fire. "Actually, I have been wondering if you'd like to become my constant mistress."

A short female laughter, full of surprise and playful coyness. "Your Majesty is too kind…"

And she had told him she'd been a virgin. Charles bit his lower lip in a moment of anger. Not that he'd actually believed her. But if she was already sleeping with the king, why the hell hadn't that stupid wench told him? There was an unwritten law at court that all women Henry chose for himself were out of bounds for all others until he lost his interest in them. Had Allison been too naïve or rather too stuck-up to foresee the trouble they'd be both in if anyone found out?

"Wait a moment, my dear. I said I have been thinking about it. Still, there is a little problem. Can you imagine what I'm talking about, Lady Allison?"

Another moment of silence. Charles could vividly picture the surprised, innocent look in her damn green eyes while he himself fervently prayed for the minor chance that Henry was talking about something entirely different and that his own presence in the study was merely coincidence.

An idle wish, of course.

"Let me then jog your memory, sweetheart. What about your other liaison with Mr. Charles Brandon? Or will you tell me it is not true that he came to your bed as well?"

A portentous silence followed while the aforementioned held his breath to prevent any sound from coming over his lips.

"It is true – but, Your Majesty, I assure you, it was not my doing," she hastily added.

"Hm. Therefore I assume you told Mr. Brandon that you were already lying with me." Henry's voice was still sympathetic and gentle; however, if Allison had just known him better, she'd surely have sensed the lion's claws behind the silk.

"Majesty, I tried to but…"

"But?"

"He wouldn't listen to me." The answer was something between a whisper and a sob and made Charles clench his fists. He had never beaten a woman before, yet in this very moment he wished for nothing more than to slap her pretty, lying face with all force. "He… he said he didn't care and Your Majesty wouldn't find out anyway… and…"

"There, there, don't you cry." So gentle, so soothing. "Come, get up, sit here. But, Allison, why didn't you tell me?"

"I … I should have, Majesty, but… I was so ashamed and I feared you would not believe me…"

"Well, we both know that it is hard to say no to Charles, don't we?"

Spinning, the whole study felt like it was spinning and he let himself sink on one of the chairs to prevent himself from dashing into the adjoining room, declaring her a liar. Henry couldn't actually believe her, could he? His voice was far too calm, far too comforting and without the slightest touch of anger. If he had believed her, the King, notorious for his outbursts, would have stormed into the study fuming with rage instead of letting him stew in his own juice. Still…

"Be assured that I'll deal with him in due time like he deserves, too," Henry continued. "But, Allison, I have to know what he did to you to be able to judge that… regrettable incident. You'll surely understand that?"

"Your Majesty… I'm afraid I don't understand…"

"You understood very well, Lady Allison." Henry's voice was still gentle, just a little sharper than before. "I demand to know what exactly happened between you and Mr. Brandon. In detail, if you please."

Charles's jaw dropped, as Allison's must have as well, at least the King added an impatient "Well?", when she didn't answer instantly.

"We… coincidentally, Mr. Brandon and I met one week ago at…"

"Spare me the coincidences, sweetheart, and skip to the indecent parts, will you?" he interrupted her and Charles could picture the amused glitter in the pale teal eyes. "What happened when he came to your chamber and you didn't manage to send him off, for what reasons whatsoever?"

"We… he kissed me," Allison muttered, now actually sounding confused and bashful.

"Like that?"

"No…"

"No, but?"

"Fiercer and… longer."

"You mean like that?"

The air seemed to grow hotter and Charles was not sure whether to ascribe it to the firelight, his own abashment or the sounds of passionate kissing behind the silken curtain. His knuckles already hurt from clenching the armrests of the chair too hard, feeling like a cat on a hot tin roof and not sure whether to curse Allison or himself.

"Yes… something like that," she replied now, a little breathless.

"And then?" Henry purred.

"He… kissed down my neck… down to the neckline…" According to her sighs, the King still imitated everything she told him. "Then he… lifted my skirt and… brushed with his fingers up my leg…"

"Without undressing you first?" A rush of cloth, another sigh and a small laughter. "He doesn't know what he missed."

"There was… not much time, Majesty. The Queen would return from confession shortly after and…"

"I see. And did he say anything to you?"

"Well… he… he said that… that I should have listened when they warned me about him…"

"Nothing else? I always thought Charles had such a witty tongue…"

"Yes, but his tongue was mostly busy… elsewhere," Allison muttered.

She obviously seemed eager to skip most of the bed talk, probably due to the fact that it wouldn't contribute to the image of the modest woman being seduced against her will by one of Henry's ruthless men. However, Charles wasn't going to complain about that special issue. Still he desperately wished for either dissolving into thin air or a really huge flagon of wine to dull his senses with. The only good of Allison's lustful sighs and moans was the fact that she had to stop talking about him.

_Bloody hell, Henry, what the fuck are you trying to prove?!?_

Unfortunately, the same had to bring the delicate subject up again.

"And then, Allison? You said there was not much time, so what was next?" Again a slight hint of impatience.

"Well…" Her voice had lowered to a throaty whisper Charles hated her for. Obviously she had begun to enjoy the game. "He pushed me onto my back and fucked me until I thought I'd lose myself."

There was a moment of silence, yet the sexual tension was almost tangible.

"Did you." He could just picture Henry's damn self-sufficient smile with the characteristic little sigh. "Well, thank you, Lady Allison. I guess I now have a very good idea what has happened between you both. You may leave now."

"But Your Majesty, I…" Her voice ceased and then there was nothing but another rustle of cloth indicating her reluctantly standing up and curtseying, then gentle steps and finally, the curtain was withdrawn and Allison came into the study. She looked more beautiful than ever, with a few blond curls having loosened from her hair-do and framing her delicious blushed cheeks. When she saw Charles, her green eyes widened and the expression of surprise and displeasure changed into one of utter horror.

He met her gaze only for an instant before he disgustedly turned away. She stood there for a few heartbeats longer before the silent sound of the door opening and closing indicated that she was gone.

Charles took a deep breath and closed his eyes for an instant before he stood up, mentally preparing himself for the wrath of the man who just stepped out of his bed-chamber, only dressed in a dark satin robe. Henry's arms were folded in front of his chest and his face was an unreadable mixture of mockery, satisfaction and anger.

"Majesty." Charles bowed and when Henry said nothing, he continued, "I swear to you by all which is holy, I did not know. I…"

"Yes, I know, Charles," Henry interrupted him unceremoniously. "And that is why I banish her from court and not you."

For an instance, he was convinced one had to hear the impact of the load that was taken off his mind.

"You look a little edgy." The pale eyes were still studying him pensively with the tiniest hints of a smile curling around the King's lips.

"That's probably because I am."

"Hm." The smile widened a little and Henry paced towards him, giving him a friendly punch to his shoulder. "Then we should go hunting tomorrow for you to lose some of your tension. And I'd rather have you hunting my wild game in the forest than at my court."

Charles couldn't help but to grin, still feeling deeply relieved. "Sounds like a good idea."

"Agreed, then. You may go now, I need some rest. Good night, Charles."

"Good night to you," Charles answered and turned to leave, but stopped with the hand on the doorknob. "You know I'd never go after a woman I knew you chose for yourself, don't you?"

"Actually, no. At least I wouldn't put you past doing so since we both know you don't always think with your head, do you?"

"Then why do you believe me and not her?"

"Because," Henry replied as if it was a matter of course, "you'd never say that you don't care. That's why."

And with these words he turned and disappeared behind the curtain again, leaving a rather puzzled and still tensed Charles. The little clock on the mantelpiece showed that it was late after midnight; however, he guessed it would take a long time for him to fall asleep that night.

Fortune's wheel goes round and round but luckily, it seemed as if he'd stay up for another while this time.

_Walk right by me in the gutter  
Lying here outside your door  
I look up and see your beauty  
Burning up and wanting more_

_Luck is far away as moonshine  
Every deal a shaky hand  
Fame is just an empty bottle  
Fortune's just a one-night stand_

_ ~ Oysterband, Street of Dreams ~ _


	2. II Two Kings, two Queens and a Fool

**Title:** Fortune's Favours  
**Pairing:** Charles Brandon / Henry Tudor  
**Rating:** M  
**Story Summary: ** The story follows the storyline of the show, except for the fact that the King and his favorite Duke get a little closer in its course than in the original, making everything even more complicated. ;-)  
**Disclaimer:** The Tudors belong to Showtime, I have absolutely now claim on the characters, the storyline etc.  
**A/N:** I know the Tudors are in many points not exactly what you'd call historically accurate, still, in this fanfiction I decided to go with the Showtime version to avoid confusions.  
Thanks to all who have commented on this story so far and kept me writing. Special thanks to Karliene for her nice long e-mail and of course again to Narya for beta-reading and everything else!

**Chapter Summary:** Charles and Henry make a bet with unforeseen consequences and share a moment of nostalgia and lots of wine at the Field of the Cloth of Gold.  
**Chapter Warnings:** Implicit slash... if you don't like it, why do you read this story at all? *g*

**_II_**

**_Two Kings, two Queens and a Fool_**

The ball dashed through the small tennis court faster than the eyes of the audience could follow, accompanied by the enthusiastic outcries of the four young men playing as if their life depended on it. The white shirts and their hair were already soaked with sweat, however, the game had reached its fever pitch and they were all too excited and hungry for victory to feel exhaustion.

Henry's service, William's stroke, Henry's reply and Anthony tried to catch the ball, yet…

"Thirty – love!" The small bell cheerfully rang, accompanied by a thrilled "Yeah!" from the King. The crowd applauded and Charles clapped Henry's shoulder in approval while William tore his hair in playful desperation.

"Our game, I think, Anthony," Henry teased their opponents, lifting his racket.

"Your Majesty knows, we're just letting you win," the addressed quick-wittedly replied.

"Actually, I was playing as hard as I can," William admitted with a grin.

Since they got the last point, Charles served next and dashed the ball over the net with offhandedness.

"Now there is someone I have to try," he muttered towards Henry, who was watching the ball coming back to them and sent it back over the net. "See, middle gallery, blue dress, that exquisite virginal face…"

Henry quickly glanced in the indicated direction as Charles took the next ball and caught a glimpse of a black-haired and indeed really pretty girl.

"Who is she?"

A reply from Anthony, a fierce blow from Charles…

"Forty – love. Game."

The crowd applauded the winners cheerfully and Charles threw up his arms in a pose of victory before returning to Henry with an impish grin on his face. "She's Buckingham's daughter."

Henry stared at his friend in disbelief and then burst out laughing, putting his arm around Charles' shoulders and playfully pulling him closer. "A hundred crowns you don't succeed!"

"Done!" The grey eyes of his friend flashed and his grin widened as he accepted the challenge. But since the little bell rang again, indicating that another round of the game was about to start, they both assumed their positions again. Henry quickly glanced up to the gallery and the girl again. Buckingham's daughter… he had never liked the arrogant duke who had just spoken against him in council again. The fact that he was a direct descendant of Edward II and Henry still without a male heir to the throne didn't help to improve things. It would really be fun if Charles managed to lay his daughter.

His eyes flicked from the girl to his best friend who prepared for the serving and a tiny smile curled around his lips. Of course he had sensed the hidden question behind Charles' boastful words, the careful attempt to make sure he wouldn't stir up a hornets' nest again. It felt kind of flattering and, together with the joy of victory and playing, added to an utter feeling of delight.

If only every hour could have been that merry and untroubled.

* * *

"I trust Your Majesty enjoyed hunting today," Wolsey said politely with a bow when Henry took his usual seat at the head of his study's table. The King only nodded, biting in an apple he had grabbed in passing. They had returned later than he had planned from hunting and therefore he hadn't had the time for a proper dinner before his meeting with Sir Thomas More and Cardinal Wolsey.

"How are the preparations going?" he asked.

"Very well. Both your army and fleet are assembling, stores and provisions are being laid in… You could go to war in a matter of weeks."

"Excellent. I knew I could depend on you."

"I am grateful to Your Majesty," the cardinal muttered, then took a deep breath as if he wanted to say something but stopped, instead exchanging a glance with Thomas. Henry waited for a few seconds and chewed on his apple, however, when none of the two men continued, he began to feel a little impatient.

"What is it?"

"Your Majesty," Wolsey slowly began in a pacifying tone, "wars are expensive. To pay for them you have to raise taxes. That is not always popular. What if Your Majesty could gain more power and prestige by other means?"

"Other means?" Henry asked suspiciously.

"Peaceful means."

"What! No battles? No glory?" the King flared up, yet Thomas, who finally took a seat at the table, interrupted him with a calm voice.

"I think Your Majesty should hear him out."

A little smile at his friend's comment crossed Henry's lips and, feeling conciliated, he told Wolsey to go on with a gesture of his hand.

"In the past few weeks," the cardinal began to explain, "I have conducted, on Your Majesty's behalf, an intense round of diplomatic talks. Not just with the French ambassador but also with representatives of the emperor, with envoys from Denmark, Portugal, the Italian states…"

"What for?" Henry interrupted him.

"To make a treaty."

"What kind of treaty?"

"A treaty of universal and perpetual peace."

The words hung weightily in the air when Wolsey sat down at the table, leaving Henry time to think about his chancellor's words. The King stared at the fireplace for some moments, pondering, before finally laughing out shortly. The proposal of this peace treaty instead of war somehow amused him, since it was such a complete turnaround, however, he still wasn't sure what to think about it.

"How is it to be effected?" he therefore demanded to know.

"In several stages," Wolsey readily explained. "In the first place there would be a summit meeting between the kings of France and England. At the summit, Your Majesty's daughter would be betrothed formally to the French dauphin. And at the end of the summit, you would both sign the treaty. "

"The treaty is entirely new in the history of Europe," Thomas added, "committing all its signatories to the principles of collective security and universal peace."

"How would it be enforced?"

"Should any of the signatory countries suffer aggression," Wolsey took over again, "all the others would immediately demand that the aggressor withdraws. If he refuses, within one month the rest would declare against him… and continue until peace is restored."

"The treaty also envisages the creation of pan-European institutions." This was Thomas again. Both must have planned exactly what to say, Henry realized, since they were both working as a perfect team in order to convince him. And of course they both were right… as ever. Although Henry felt a little unwilling to abandon the idea of war, of epic battles and glorious victories, he had to admit that, seen in an objective way, the arguments of his advisors were the better ones. And even he realized what advantages the proposed treaty would bring if they managed to pass it. Slowly, the King nodded.

"In some ways I like it. I recognize it – so do you, Thomas…"

"Indeed," his friend approved.

"It's the application of humanist principles to international affairs." Henry smiled appreciatively and turned toward Cardinal Wolsey again. "Your Eminence is to be congratulated."

"I don't seek praise," Wolsey replied modestly, slowly getting up again. "Your Majesty would be known as the architect of a new and modern world. That would be reward enough."

"Always be assured of our love," Henry said emphatically before rising from his chair. Thomas did the same and both he and the cardinal bowed to the King.

"Goodnight, gentlemen."

In that moment the door opened and one of the servants in black clothes with the red and white Tudor rose on his chest entered the room.

"What is it?" Henry asked, feeling a little annoyed. It was late, hunting had been exhausting and he desired nothing more than a quiet evening away from politics.

"Your Majesty, the Duke of Buckingham insists upon an audience," the servant replied tentatively and Henry sighed. The Duke was probably the last person he wanted to see right now and for an instant he toyed with the idea of simply sending his rival away. However, this would result in a lot of trouble afterwards he was not interested in either. So he let himself falling back onto his chair, announcing that he was prepared to receive Buckingham, who entered with huge steps and an expression on his face that signalized trouble.

"Your Grace," Henry greeted him coolly.

"Your Majesty ought to be made aware that I have discovered Mr. Charles Brandon in flagrante delicto with my daughter," Buckingham said dangerously low without any greeting or bow to Henry. "Mr. Brandon has brought shame to my family. I demand that Your Majesty banish him from court with whatever other punishment Your Majesty sees fit." The last word he almost spat out with so much contempt that Henry's already strained patience snapped.

"There will be no punishment!" he exclaimed, rising from his seat to take the unspoken challenge. "Unless your daughter accuses Mr. Brandon of rape. Does she so claim?" And when Buckingham didn't answer, he yelled to his face, "Does your daughter claim Mr. Brandon raped her?!"

"She doesn't need to," the Duke snapped back. "The offence is against me and against my family!"

"As far as I know, there has been no offence," Henry answered, still fuming with rage, "so there is no need for any punishment."

They stared at each other for some seconds, open hatred glaring in the dark eyes of the Duke as well as and in the cool, grey blue ones of the King. Finally, it was Buckingham who turned away first, looking quickly in Wolsey's direction but since neither the cardinal nor Thomas made any effort to interfere he looked back to Henry again.

"Your Majesty." He didn't even try to hide his repugnance.

"Your Grace," Henry hissed, not being cagey about his feelings either.

Without any other word or bow Buckingham left the chamber even more enraged than when he had come. Henry sighed and leaned against the table, for an instant closing his eyes to calm down. He knew he shouldn't have lost his temper and that Buckingham was basically right, but the arrogant, demanding tone of the Duke and the fact that he had tried to enjoin Henry on how to deal with his best friend had just made him angry.

"Be careful of Buckingham, Harry," he heard Thomas' calm voice. "He may well be stupid, but he's richer than you are, and he can call upon a private army. Not even your father crossed him."

Henry looked at Wolsey, but according to the look on his face, the cardinal agreed with More. "And what should I have done in your opinion? Have Charles flogged or sent to the Tower because Buckingham is unable to look after his lewd daughter?"

"No, of course not," Wolsey tried to appease him. "Whereas – I beg your forgiveness, Majesty, but it is not the first time Mr. Brandon stands out with a scandalous affair, isn't it?"

"So what? I'm not his nurse," Henry spat. The topic felt especially unpleasing because in this case, he knew he was at least partly accountable for Charles' behaviour since he had even encouraged him to go after the girl by offering that stupid wager. However, who could have foreseen that the idiot would have let himself get caught literally with his pants down? He curtly snorted with laughter at the thought.

"No, but you're his King," Wolsey answered meanwhile, "and you have the means to shorten his leash before he gets either himself or both of you into serious trouble, Majesty. You could, for example, command him to take a wife."

"No," Henry shook his head vigorously, disliking the idea before he even knew why. "Anyway, it would change nothing except for the fact that he'd constantly cheat on her."

"Still, if he cheated on her somewhere else, it would not be Your Majesty's problem."

"But I don't want him away from court!" Henry's eyes flashed in upcoming anger. "Is it not enough I spent most of the day discussing boring politics, bills and treaties with men about twice as old as I am or listening to annoying appeals from everyone? Can't I keep at least some of my old friends by my side to enjoy life from time to time?"

"Of course, Your Majesty. It was just a suggestion," Wolsey muttered and Henry could see that his angry words had hurt his chancellor. He took a deep breath and continued as calmly as possible.

"I promise I will think of a solution and talk to him, Your Eminence."

The two men took their leave and Henry remained alone, staring pensively out of the window and over the dark palace garden. His thoughts revolved around his cancelled war and the new treaty, around Buckingham and the open hostility in the dark eyes, still, wherever his thoughts might wander, they always came back to Charles.

He was startled when his groom entered again. "Your Majesty, Mr. Charles Brandon."

Henry nodded absent-mindedly, and waited until his friend had entered the room and bowed. He was still wearing his hunting outfit from the day and looked pretty relaxed and pleased with himself.

"Majesty. Are you so eager to see me again?"

"Indeed I am, since I have just heard that you've lightened my purse about a hundred crowns," Henry smiled, feeling how he immediately felt better at the sight of his best friend. "Why didn't you tell me before?"

"I see someone sold me out. I wonder who it was." Charles' mischievous grin widened. "Well… I thought it would be some kind of unfair if I charged you for an unfinished job so I thought I'd better do it properly again."

"Are you trying to tell me you fucked that girl again after Buckingham caught you with your pants down?!?"

"About ten minutes before your messenger found me," Charles shrugged and Henry couldn't help but laughing out loud with malicious joy, dropping on his chair again.

"He better should have kept an eye on his daughter instead of wasting my time complaining about you having offended his family."

"He did?" Charles looked amused. "Well, maybe he should have used his chance for retribution when he had me at the end of his sword."

Henry shook his head, half in denial and half to get rid of the images Charles' comment produced in his head. "No, he knew I would have killed him if he had harmed you. He wanted to embarrass me by demanding that you are to be banished from court… with whatever other punishment I see fit," he added with a telling grin.

"Mhm." Charles managed to look concerned, but his jauntily glittering eyes betrayed him as he approached Henry. "And whatever other punishment does Your Majesty see fit?"

"Hm." The King measured his friend with his gaze though still unable to hide a smile. "Since Cardinal Wolsey and Sir Thomas More have just convinced me to call off the war with France and instead sign a treaty of perpetual peace with them… I guess I'll banish you from court for as long as it takes you to accompany me to France and back."

"Sounds splendid. I mean… sounds like an appropriate punishment, Majesty."

"I knew you'd appreciate my fair judgment." Henry grinned and poured them both a cup of red wine, raising his own to Charles. "Soon we'll have French Bordeaux, my friend! Here's to perpetual peace!"

"To peace," Charles agreed and they let their cups cling, both sharing a hearty laugh.

* * *

Henry held his promise and so at the beginning of June, the sailed from Dover to Calais to meet with King Francis. And although living at the royal court of England as long as he could remember and having experienced a lot of grandiose feasts there, Charles was convinced he had never been to a feast with these amounts of debauchery and pomposity. In the midst of the Field of the Cloth of Gold, as it was quickly called because of the many tents and clothes woven with silk and gold thread, a great temporary palace had been erected. The only solid part of the so-called "Palace of Illusions" was the brick base; the rest was a deceptively real-looking creation of cloth, glass and timber. And everywhere in the Palace as well in the surrounding forest of tents, celebration, feasting, games and music was going on all day and all night without any pause. Red wine flowed from two fountains outside and for entertainment, various tournaments and performances of jousting, swordplay and wrestling were held. Beyond that, the English and the French King seemed to get along well, so the atmosphere was merry and unstressed all day. But as all good things come to an end someday, also the day of their departure drew nearer. In the morning, the two kings should sign the treaty in a grand ceremony and in the afternoon, the English would already be back on the Channel and their way home.

It was on the eve before their departure and after dinner, the tables and chairs in the middle of the hall had been removed to give room for another entertainment, a match between English and French wrestlers. Charles sat with Anthony and William in the first row, enjoying themselves and betting on the outcomes of the matches. They had already had a good deal of wine, just enough to have the pleasant feeling of warmth flowing through the bodies, loosening the tongue and making you feel entirely comfortable with yourself and the world.

"Seems our French friends wear us down," William commented when the last standing Englishman finally fell to the ground, marking a clear victory for the French.

"Nah, that's just for hospitality. And you owe me twenty for that guy," Charles grinned.

"Where's your loyalty, Charles?" Anthony teased him. "You bet against our men?"

"Someone has to." Charles shrugged and took another sip of wine when suddenly, Henry rose from his chair and his sharp voice became clearly audible for the hall and the discussions and the clapping died down.

"Do you want to prove it?

"What are you suggesting?" King Francis, looking a little uncomfortable, replied in a much lower tone. However, Henry didn't seem to be interested to keep their discussion private anymore. Charles knew what that icy gleam in his King's eyes meant: Francis had managed to stress his thin patience too far until it had finally snapped.

"I am challenging you to a wrestling match… brother," Henry said, loud enough for everyone to hear, pointing at the free space inside the hall where the wrestlers were just about to retreat.

The murmur inside the hall rose, yet as Francis still hesitated, Henry waved it off with a superior smile on his lips.

"You're a coward."

_"Merde!"_ Outraged, Francis now rose from his chair as well, facing Henry with a dangerous glitter in his dark eyes. "French honour is at stake. I accept your challenge. _Parce que tel est notre bon plaisir._ Let's do it now."

"Groom!" Henry yelled and stepped aside, taking off his necklace und already opening his gold-embroidered overcoat with erratic, angry movements. The eagerness to beat his rival for whatever he had said to him was written in his face.

"Now, this is going to be fun," William murmured, amusedly rubbing his chin. Charles grinned and nodded, watching Henry removing first his waistcoat and then his shirt with the help of his groom. Sir Thomas More stepped at his side, whispering something, but Henry curtly waved him aside. When both rulers had stripped down up to their pants, they walked side by side down the small stairs into the middle of the hall where they faced each other, serious anger glittering in both eyes. Henry was almost half a head shorter than the French King, Charles noticed with slight concern. He knew that his friend was indeed energetic as well as determined, however, due to his lean built he had always lacked the strength to really succeed in sports like wrestling.

"Your majesties… gentlemen… the rules are as follows," the umpire meanwhile declared. "The first man to throw his opponent to the ground shall be declared the winner. Are you content?"

"Yes," Henry said lowly, whereas Francis only grinned.

"Then fight on!"

The two kings pushed away and then started circling each other, both observing each single move of the opponent and waiting for the slightest sign that the other one would attack. The tension was almost tangible and the noise level rose again, the crowd cheering their Kings on. "Go, Henry!" Charles yelled and then nervously bit his lower lip.

"What bet will you lay?" he heard Anthony asking behind his back.

"Two kings, two queens and a fool," William smiled whimsically.

"Who's the fool?"

"I don't know yet, but it's a full house," William answered, jumping up and a moment later, yelling, "Come on, Your Majesty!"

Nothing held Charles on his chair as well and when Henry finally jumped forward and grabbed Francis, the cheering grew even louder and more enthusiastic. Both held each other in a firm grasp, pushing and pressing in order to unbalance the opponent or make him stumble and fall.

"Henry's gonna win!" Charles shouted enthusiastically in Anthony's ear. "Go, Henry!"

"Whatever happens, he's not gonna win," Sir Thomas More muttered behind his back, but Charles was far too occupied with watching the fight than bothering to answer.

"Come on!"

The yelling and cheering grew louder and louder and so did the groaning and gasping of the two combatants whose heads turned red in exertion. For a short moment they broke away just to grab the other one an instant later and doggedly continuing to fight. And for an instant it seemed as if Henry would get the upper hand, having his arms around Francis' neck and slowly pressing the French King down… until, all of a sudden, the same leaped forward, forcefully pushing against Henry who lost balance and fell to the floor.

Exclamations of surprise, then excessive jeering and clapping came from the French in the crowd when King Francis threw up his arms in a pose of victory. Charles, Anthony and William didn't have to agree on it, they all hastened towards their overthrown king and reached him just in time to prevent him from lunging at Francis again. However, Henry was in such a rage that he tried to shake them off, over and over again yelling, "I want a re-match! I want a re-match!!"

"Henry, man, calm down…" Charles muttered reassuringly, but the King didn't even seem to hear him and just continued screaming and fighting their grip.

"Are you afraid? Are you afraid of a re-match?"

"Are you calling me afraid?" Francis called over at him contemptuously. "Of what am I supposed to be afraid?"

"Of me!" Henry yelled, throwing himself forward just to be held back again.

"Let's have it then…"

It was in that moment when Sir Thomas More rushed in, grabbing Henry and pulling him forcefully aside. The King of England seemed so surprised that he gave up his resistance.

"I'm not going to sign the treaty!" he hissed instead "I'm not gonna sign it! Go and tell them…"

Charles didn't catch what Henry wanted to tell them anymore, since Sir Thomas lowered his voice to a mutter but seemed to speak very intensely to him. He quickly glanced at Francis who wore his overcoat again, sipping from a glass of wine someone had passed him and looking very satisfied with himself. And for an instant he strongly loathed this man that had sent his best friend and king to the ground.

"Seems like More talked some sense into him again, thank God!" William muttered at his side when they watched Henry finally turning and walking away. "Not to image what would've happened if he blew the whole treaty…"

"Doesn't mean he still won't," Charles answered thoughtfully and sighed. "Well, so much for this evening, gentlemen. Shall we get drunk on Henry's behalf?"

"After you've done whatever he wants from you, gladly," Anthony answered, calling Charles' attention to Henry again who beckoned him over with a small gesture.

"Majesty…"

"I want you to bring Lady Mary Boleyn up to my room in, say, the quarter of an hour," Henry commanded curtly without even looking at Charles. His tight jaw indicated that he was still fighting his rage. "You know who she is?"

"Yes, I do." Charles hesitated a moment but the decided to try nevertheless. "Majesty, I…"

"Don't. Just don't."

Henry rushed towards one of the side exits, grabbing his overcoat while walking away without once looking back.

* * *

About two hours later, Henry lay on his bed in the darkness, idly staring at the ceiling. After the Lady Mary had left, he had extinguished the candles illuminating the richly decorated room so that he couldn't see it anymore. A desperate effort to shut out where – or who – he was.

The Boleyn girl had been a nice distraction for a while since she was both pretty and eager to please. She had managed to calm him down and released him of the tension from the fight still lasting in his body. However, she could neither drive away the nagging feeling of discomfort and self-doubt nor the loneliness. He had almost laughed out loud at the thought that he actually felt lonely although he was surrounded with people all day, still, they were not the company he would have chosen for himself if he were free to choose. All this mindless small talk with the narcissistic French King and his nobleman who were almost worst while he saw his friends of old strolling around, drinking, laughing and enjoying the celebrations. He envied them more than he would admit to himself.

A small strip of light fell through the door as it was slowly opened and Henry turned his head to gaze at the silhouette standing in the doorframe.

"Was she no good?"

"What? Oh, you mean the Lady Mary. No. No, she was fine. Well-educated in French graces, if you know what I mean."

Charles laughed a little too long and too loud to still appear sober. "Then why are you sitting in the dark while your subjects are celebrating you?"

"Don't they rather laugh at me?" Henry growled.

A little pause. "No. Of course not." It sounded rather bemused.

"Hm." Henry smiled in the dark, finally sitting up. "Actually, I was going to ask you if you'd keep me company over a glass of wine… make that a flagon. However, it seems to me you're already in advance, aren't you?"

"Don't worry about me, Majesty, I'm no lightweight." Though it was dark, Henry could exactly picture the self-confident grin that went with Charles' words. "We could grab a flagon and watch the fireworks outside. Some fresh air would suit us both, I think."

Henry grimaced. "If I wanted the company of anyone else, I could have stayed in the hall."

"We won't have company, trust me. Now why don't you get dressed and I'll take care of the wine?"

Only the quarter of an hour later they sat next to each other on a nearby hillside in the shadow of some whin bushes, overlooking the Field of the Cloth of Gold. The illuminated tents where shining like hundreds of glowing rocks on a dark sea with the Palace of Illusions as its natural centre. The sound of music and laughter still rang through the warm air of the starlit night, mingling with the chirring of hundreds of crickets sitting nearby. The flagon of wine had become two, one steadily passing between them, the other one lying yet untouched in the high grass.

"You know what? I've seen the field only once as a whole and that was the day when we arrived." Henry shook his head, taking a deep swig from the flagon. "_Merde_, as my very special friend King Francis would say."

"C'mon, forget the Frog," Charles mumbled, who was lying outstretched in the grass next to him. "You should rather drink…"

"Yeah, here's to all French going to hell one day!" Henry raised the flagon in a mock salute and took another swig.

"'cept the women, of course," Charles chuckled.

"Nah, our English roses are much fairer anyway."

A loud bang down on the field interrupted them and suddenly, purple cascades exploded in the air, falling down like a rain of flowers. Other colours followed, enlightening the dark night sky in a beautiful play of colours, flashing up and ceasing only moment later. Both men silently watched without saying anything, just passing the flagon from time to time and when it was finally empty, they opened a new one. Henry felt his head getting lighter and how welcome dizziness embraced him, drowning his cares, if only for a moment. How he had missed such simple things, just lying down somewhere with his best friend, making stupid jokes, getting drunk as hell…

Finally the fireworks ended with a last beautiful cascade of gold and silver, falling down like the branches of a willow and bathing the entire field in golden light. The drops slowly floated down like tiny coins, slowly going out, and then it was dark again. Down on the field there was much cheering and applause but it seemed to be so far away from them.

"I just thought of our French campaign," Henry said eventually, a thoughtful smile on his lips. "Do you remember?"

"'course," Charles muttered without even opening his eyes. "Those were the times…"

"Nothing about peace treaties and pan-European shit then," Henry agreed. "We beat them up and they whined like the damn cowardly puppies they are, crawlin' back to their bitches."

More moments passed in silence, both men lost in their thoughts. Henry gazed at Charles thoughtfully and without even noticing, his brown, always a little dishevelled-looking hair, the handsome features displaying a look of complete satisfaction, the well-toned body sprawled down on the grass…

"And do you remember the feast afterwards?"

"Vaguely." Charles grinned. "I remem'er much wine an' much… many women…"

"What, that's all?"

"'cept for the part ye' told me I should never-ever talk 'bout if I wanna keep my head," Charles mumbled and yawned loudly.

That part, yes. Henry had almost forgotten it himself, however, the last weeks it had involuntarily crept into his mind from time to time. That one evening when they had celebrated their victory wildly, as if it was the last of their days, the very evening when they had – for the first and only time so far – gone that little step too far…

_They were already dead drunk and Henry couldn't even recall himself how and when Charles and he had lost the others, ending up in his own luxurious tent with three ravishingly beautiful young ladies and enough wine to make an entire company drunk. They had already repeatedly satisfied their lust and since a lot more wine had flown since then, they were now telling silly joke, toasting to themselves and bantering with their female company. Playfully solemn, Charles raised his cup._

_"Here's to my most beloved friend, the most Grace- n'… 'n Bounty- an' Dreadful of all princes the world has e'er seen… King Henry VIII o' England… Hammer o' the Frogs… whom I love more than anyone else, so help me God!"_

_His drunken, mumbled toast was accompanied by a lot of giggle from the blond girl sitting on his lap. "Even more than me?" she asked, playfully caressing his face._

_"'course he does… I'm his King," Henry replied with lazy amusement watching both from half-closed eyes while absent-mindedly playing with some strands of hair of the second girl who nimbly caressed his chest under the wide shirt. _

_"His Majesty's right, as ever." Charles grinned, kissing the blonde on her lips._

_"And yet you prefer kissing me to him," she teased him, playfully tipping his nose._

_"Hmm… Actually, can't compare, can I?"_

_Henry chuckled to himself, feeling far too drunk and easygoing to come up with a witty response. However, he was ripped out of that enjoyable state when he suddenly felt two strong hands encircling his jaw as Charles leaned forward to kiss him. At first, the feeling was simply strange, the touch of raspy stubbles against his skin and the kiss being so much fiercer and more controlling than he was used to. Only with half an ear he heard their female companions cheering and giggling in anticipation when his lips instinctively opened to meet his friend's and a pleasant feeling of warmth and upcoming arousal shot through his body. Slowly he reached out for Charles to dig his hand into this hair when suddenly reality hit in and he forcefully pushed him away instead. With a surprised yelp, he fell backwards down to the mattress and before he got a chance to recover, Henry was kneeling next to him with the little dagger he always wore in his boots pointing at Charles' throat. Though fury and shock were still fighting for dominance he felt completely sober in an instant. Charles stared at him with an expression of utter horror._

_"Majesty… forgive me…I…"_

_"You will never ever speak about that again, is that understood?" Henry hissed, his lips still burning. "It never happened. Otherwise you'll not keep your head long enough to even say you're sorry. Is that understood?!?"_

_"Yes, Your Majesty," Charles whispered._

_Henry stared at him for another moment, then got on his feet a little shakily. He grabbed his overcoat and paced out of the tent with long, angry stride, still feeling Charles' gaze on his back and his passionate kiss on his lips. _

They had never talked about it again and never again had anything similar happened between them. Until the very moment over the Field of the Cloth of Gold when Henry slowly, hesitatingly reached out for his friend, gently touching his cheek and running his fingers down the line of the jaw. Charles didn't wince back, didn't even open his eyes, however, his breath stopped for a heartbeat, and was then exhaled as a soft sigh. Henry smiled to himself, and, still holding Charles' face, he finally leaned down to kiss him, not fiercely this time but a gentle, slow kiss meant to ease and to seduce. He could taste the sweet red wine on his friend's lips and again he was met with no resistance or hesitation, yet with no response either.

"Charles?" Henry whispered against his lips and as there was again neither a response nor any sign that Charles had even heard him, he let go of his face.

"Charles?!"

His friend's head sank back to the ground and, disbelieving, Henry heard a first, soft snore escaping Charles' lips.

"Charles, you damn son of a whore!"

Henry shook his head, not sure if he should burst out into laughter or be angry, but the urge to laugh was stronger with the entire situation being so absurd it was simply comical. He laughed and laughed until his stomach hurt from laughing and tears welled up in the corners of his eyes, he couldn't even think of the last time he'd felt that uncaged and free. Finally, he stretched himself out on the ground next to the snoring Charles, still chuckling to himself and watching the sleeper.

"Just you wait, my friend…" 

He wasn't entirely sure himself if it was meant as a threat or as a promise.

* * *

Quick steps were approaching on the shaky planks, then a soft laughter.

"For Christ's sake, is he still feeding the fishes?"

"Well, if you can't handle your drink you probably don't deserve better," Anthony teased.

"Oh, get stuffed, Anthony," Charles managed to mutter before another wave of sickness overcame him and he had to bent over the railing again. All had gone quite well in consideration of the circumstances until they had stepped on the planks of the ships that took them over the Channel right now when Charles had discovered that a hangover and a troubled sea really were a bad match.

"Anyway… His Majesty would like to let you know that he's sorry you're sick and advises you not to overdo yourself so much in the future that you fall asleep in the middle of a conversation." William grinned mischievously, trying in vain to keep a serious face and Anthony chuckled to himself. "Also, he asked me to give you something, but I fear that if I hand it to you know, it will fall right into the Channel."

"What is it?" Charles gasped, raising his head just a little.

"Let me see." William opened the little cloth purse and whistled in approval. "Look at that, Anthony."

"Hmm… I'd say our lad must have been good last night," Anthony joked.

"Fuck, Anthony, _what is it?_" Charles roared, immediately sending another wave of pain through his head and made his stomach turn upside down once more.

"Easy, Charles." Anthony patted his back, not even trying to hide his amusement. "Your malaise is at least well-paid as it seems."

With substantial effort, Charles managed to fight back the nausea as well as in any way possible and turned his head to see what William held in his hands.

It was a silver ring, made for a man's hand with the top elegantly carved into the petals of the Tudor Rose with tiny red and white gemstone slivers embedded in the petals. Charles had never seen that piece of jewellery before, nor did he understand why he deserved such a royal gift right now.

"I don't get it. He falls asleep while keeping Henry company and as thanks he gets jewellery." William shook his head. "Must be doing something wrong."

"Nah, it's all fool's luck," Anthony replied and grinned. "There you have your full house, William! I just wonder if Charles goes with the Kings or with the Queens…"

The same rolled his eyes as both of his comrades roared with laughter. "Why don't you get lost, both of you?"

"Because, my dear Charles," Anthony said with a serious expression, "we could never forgive ourselves if our beloved King's favourite plunges into the sea through our fault."

"Especially since he'll probably soon try to jump voluntarily, according to his face," William added, snickering.

Another attack of nausea prevented Charles from lunging at his friends and, staring into the turbulent, darkened sea, he prayed dearly that the coast would come soon.

_Dancing to the feel of the drum  
Leave this world behind  
We'll have a drink and toast to ourselves  
Under a Violet Moon  
Tudor Rose with the hair in curls  
Will make you turn and stare  
Try to steal a kiss at the bridge  
Under a Violet Moon_

_ ~ Blackmore's Night, Under a violet moon ~_


	3. III The King and his Duke

**Title:** Fortune's Favours  
**Pairing:** Charles Brandon / Henry Tudor  
**Rating:** M  
**Story Summary: ** The story follows the storyline of the show, except for the fact that the King and his favorite Duke get a little closer in its course than in the original, making everything even more complicated. ;-)  
**Disclaimer:** The Tudors belong to Showtime, I have absolutely now claim on the characters, the storyline etc.  
**A/N:** I know the Tudors are in many points not exactly what you'd call historically accurate, still, in this fanfiction I decided to go with the Showtime version to avoid confusions.  
Thanks to all my readers for encouragement and keeping me writing and special thanks to Narya for beta-reading and everything else.

**Chapter Summary:** Henry struggles with his passion for Charles and finally comes to a decision  
**Chapter Warnings:** Explicit Slash, Drug Use (or something similar -) )

**_III_**

**_The King and his Duke_**

There was no sound in the thick forest, neither the chirping of birds, nor the wind brushing through the branches. Even the soft falling of his horse's hooves on the forest floor was strangely muffled, as if it was made of cloth instead of solid earth. The Hunter knew he had gotten hopelessly lost in this strange forest where even the dim light, seemingly coming from everywhere, gave no clue where he was or where he had come from. However, he couldn't go back anyway, since he was hunting and hadn't found his prey yet although he had been roaming the forest for hours – or was it days? Weeks? Years? He couldn't remember.

A sharp crack in the wood made him flinch and as he turned, the bow in his hands, he was gazing at a strange creature that had stepped out of the wood. It had the body of a horse but the well-toned torso of a man. Slightly curled brown hair fell down to the shoulders and eyes as grey as the sea glittered in mockery.

In a split second, the Hunter had drawn and released his bow, yet the Centaur easily pranced aside and the arrow only hit the trunk of a tree next to it.

"Missed!" the mythical creature taunted.

"Stay!" the Hunter yelled and spurred his horse on, "for I must have you!"

"Then catch me!"

The Centaur reared up challengingly, then turned and dashed back into the brushwood. The Hunter encouraged his brave horse even further, tearing right after his prey through the branches and the wild hunt began. Over hedge and ditch it went, over rough and smooth, always criss-cross through the forest. Little branches hit the face of the Hunter but he didn't realize it in his fever and eagerness to catch up with the creature, however, it always seemed to have a small lead over him, no matter how hard he urged his horse.

They came to a sudden halt on a small clearing in the midst of the thick forest. The Hunter's horse blew heavily and even its rider felt the exhaustion of the wild chase whereas the Centaur was still prancing with ease, showing no visible sign of exhaustion.

"Alas, Your Majesty," it mocked, "how will you ever catch me with such a heavy burden weighing on your shoulders?"

The Hunter reached up, and indeed he felt the heavy weight of the golden crown resting on his head, pressing and slowing him down, in contrast to the feral creature in front of him.

"Well, if I shall wear this burden, so shall you!"

And with these words he grabbed the crown and threw it towards the Centaur who reared up in resistance. Yet the solid metal turned into golden ropes as it flew, winding around the creature's legs and finally bringing it down to the ground. With a shout of triumph, the King jumped from his horse and hastened towards the fallen creature which lay on the ground, struggling against its bonds. Only when its captor kneeled at its side, gently putting both hands on its flanks, it yielded eventually.

"You're mine now," Henry whispered, not bothering to ban the joy from his voice.

Charles only smiled in response, all mockery gone from his eyes.

"I've always been."

* * *

"The same dream again, you say?"

"Yes." Henry hesitated for a moment. "Twice. With nocturnal emissions once…"

"And did you indulge in self-fornication as a consequence?"

"Yes," the King admitted, counting the little holes in the fence that separated the two sides of the confessional.

"The dream and the carnal reaction are no voluntary acts, and therefore not to be considered a sin. Yet seeking release from your own hand is. Is there anything else you wish to confess, my son?"

"No, Father. Still… there is some question that has bothered me the previous days." Henry was silent for a moment, but when the priest didn't answer, he continued. "I was wondering if the dream might have some symbolic or numinous meaning… if it was meant to show or advise me something."

"Your dream was a symbol for sodomy and damnable sin, my son. If it really is a sign of God, it is rather a warning or a trial than an advice. But it might as well be a suggestion of the devil to lead you from the right path. Be that as it may, you should resist temptation and pray to the Lord to take it away from you."

"I shall do as you say." He sighed softly, closing his eyes and immediately the images returned, the quivering flanks beneath his hands, the grey eyes looking at him with gentle affection… "However… I might be the King of England, yet I am as well a mortal, sinful and fallible. What if I do not resist? What if I fall for temptation?"

"You should not even think about it. Sodomy is a terrible crime, a sin against God and it requires years, sometimes decades and immense acts of penance to make up for such an unnatural and vile bestiality."

"What kind of acts?"

Behind the fence there was a loud, indignant coughing. "My son, the Lord does not bargain." A longer pause before the priest slowly continued. "However, if I assumed your question is merely an academic one, then it would be possible to make good for the crime by an intensified dedication to our Holy Church. According to the severity of the crime, of course there would have to be huge sacrifices."

"I understand, Father."

"Then I will now assign your penance, son…"

The rest of the sacrament, the assignment of penance and the ritual words of absolution passed without Henry really paying attention to it. His mind was too troubled by nagging questions and doubts and, over and over again, the images of his dream crept into his nervous mind. Only when he eventually kneeled alone in front of the altar, repeating the reassuringly familiar words of the Lord's Prayer, he felt the calmness returning to him. When he was done praying, he remained kneeling, his eyes fixed on the golden cross on the altar, finally turning to God in his own words.

_Our Father who art in heaven, _

_Hallowed be thy name._

"Lord, I know you move in mysterious ways. But this time, I feel your ways are too tangled for me to understand. All my life I have been a true Christian, never failing to obey your law and that of the Holy Church of Rome. I am no sodomite spitting upon your will and offending nature. You know my mind and my secrets as if they were an open book and you know, I have never desired a man before, nor do I desire another but this one that has been sent to tempt me, as your priests say."

_Thy kingdom come. _

_Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven._

A soft sigh came over Henry's lips when his mind wandered back to Charles, back to all the memories that had been troubling his mind for weeks, no matter how hard he had tried to displace them or to stay away from his friend. "Still, Lord, I know the temptations of the flesh and this one is different from all the others since I have more fondness for him than for any of them. Yet how can it be that the greater sin is the one that emerges from greater love?"

_Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses,_

_As we forgive those who trespass against us._

The bright light of the candles made his eyes hurt as he stared too long into them, watching the flickering of the flame. "Might it be that he is not a temptation but a gift that shall drive me to sin and through sin to great works and deeds of penance in your name? Or is it just to test my constancy and faithfulness as you did before, by denying me the son I long for?"

_And lead us not into temptation,_

_But deliver us from evil._

"I know I cannot bargain with you, Lord, so all I ask of you as your humble servant is a little sign to show me the right way. If even my thoughts have offended you and I have fallen in disgrace long ago, I swear, I will be unwavering and continue to resist temptation, even if it tears me apart, in order to regain your grace. Yet if it serves a greater purpose, I am willing to be your obedient instrument to reach them, even if I have to sin for it. Just give me a sign, Lord, that I may know what you expect me to do…"

He did not know how long he had knelt on the cool stone floor of Westminster Abbey when he finally stepped through the large front doors into a sticky Augusts' night. The entire city of London suffered from the unusual, sultry heat of the previous weeks, desperately longing for the cleansing thunderstorm and rain that was overdue. Even though it was night and the distance between the Abbey and his private chambers not very long, Henry's light shirt stuck to his body when he arrived. In his chambers, all windows were open to let in the nightly air that was at least a little bit cooler than the day's, though the difference was hardly noticeable.

"Majesty, the Cardinal Wolsey was there in your absence and has left you a message," one of his grooms announced and Henry only nodded, taking the envelope and ordering a mug of cool water for his refreshment. Then he opened the letter.

_Majesty,_

_I am glad to tell you that Lady Elizabeth Blount has given birth to a boy the previous night. According to the messenger, the child is in good health. Your Majesty is to be congratulated._

_Your most humble servant,_

_Wolsey_

"Amen," Henry whispered, clutching the little letter as if it meant his life. At the same moment, a soft roll of thunder could be heard in the distance.

* * *

Slowly the court was gathering in the throne hall, chatting merrily since the king and his nobles had not yet arrived. And with every glance that met his own, whether it was the coquettish peek of a lady who would after a moment decently cast down her eyes or the open gaze of a man who would nod at him, Charles was wondering if they already knew. After all, he knew how quickly rumours spread at court although he hadn't said a word to anyone since even he did not know how to think of the King's announcement a week ago. The birth of his son, young Henry Fitzroy, and the execution of his greatest rival, the Duke of Buckingham, had visibly brightened his mood and so Charles had thought of nothing special as Henry had asked him to accompany him on a ride.

_"I have some business for you, Charles," Henry said casually, as they had just slowed down their horses from a fast gallop to a comfortable walk._

_"As you desire," Charles answered light-heartedly, patting his black's neck._

_"My sister Margaret is to marry the king of Portugal. I want you to escort her and her dowry to Lisbon, and give her away in my name."_

_Charles looked up in utter surprise, half expecting to see Henry bursting out into laughter, however, the King seemed to be entirely serious._

_"Why me?" _

_"I need someone I can trust," Henry simply said and Charles laughed a little._

_"You trust me with a beautiful woman?"_

_"With my sister," Henry emphasized sharply and reined his horse. Pale, bluish green eyes locked with his own in a gaze that told Charles better to leave out further jokes. "Of course I trust you. Why shouldn't I?"_

_For a moment there was an unpleasant silence between them. Charles didn't know what to answer to this, but then Henry patted his shoulder and continued in a conversational tone, "In any case, you're already betrothed to… what's her name? I can't keep up."_

_"Elizabeth Grey," Charles answered, fleetingly thinking about the little girl he had only once met. "She's the cousin of the Marquess of Dorset."_

_"Exactly."_

_"I'm honoured by your majesty's trust, but there is still a difficulty," Charles tried again, this time more carefully as they continued their ride. "I'm not important enough to give away the sister of a king, let alone the King of England."_

_A small grin spread on Henry's face as if he had hoped that Charles would come up with this objection. Again a hand lightly fell on his shoulder but stayed there for a moment. "That's why I'm making you a duke," Henry declared and as Charles only stared at him in disbelief, he grinned and spurred his horse. "Duke of Suffolk. How does that please Your Grace…?" _

Your Grace. He, who had not even one drop of noble blood flowing in his veins, should be raised to the highest rank of nobility one could have without belonging to the royal family. It made him feel a little dizzy. At first, after having realized that Henry was in fact not joking, he had felt pride and joy, however, the previous week had made him reconsider, especially the short meeting with the Princess Margaret. He had always liked to tease Henry's beautiful sister, though she was one of the few women at court even he better kept his hands off, and knowing this, she had never failed to reply with a snippy comment and looking down her nose at him. And of course when they met, she had had to add the little remark about how surprised she was that her brother had chosen a man without noble blood to represent him and that even Norfolk would have been better.

Her arrogance had amused him as ever; still, he had begun to wonder how many others at court would not approve of his ennoblement. After all, he was far from having only friends here, and he was not even sure how his friends would take the news. If at least Henry would have assigned him a lower rank, an esquire or a simple lord, but a duke… he didn't even know how a bloody duke had to behave, for god's sake!

He was startled out of his thoughts as the chatting died down and the entering of the king was announced. Henry and the nobles of the council were dressed in full ceremonial clothing, the long crimson velvet coats with ermine capes and the coronets on their heads. Charles caught Henry's gaze over the heads of the crowd and noticed a little smile playing around the corners of the King's lips.

Charles didn't pay attention to the secretary's address to the court, meaningless, formal words. His eyes remained fixed on Henry, and even when he heard his own name being exclaimed and the murmur that followed in its wake, he resisted the temptation to look around to make out which faces were appreciating and which ones jealous or disdainful. Still, the way to the throne felt a little like a walk to the scaffold, knowing that all eyes were trained on him. Henry's face showed no sign of emotion any more when Charles knelt before the throne as it was custom.

"To all and singular, as well nobles and gentiles as others to whom these presents shall come," Mr. Pace, the secretary, announced solemnly, "it is the King's pleasure, by this patent, to confer on Mister Charles Brandon and on his offspring, the noble title of Duke of Suffolk. And also by this patent, to grant him lands worth 200,000 pounds a year, for the maintaining of his dignity."

The soft white ermine cape with the four rows of sealskin spots, marking his future rank, clung to his neck as the velvet coat was draped around him. It was heavy and for a moment Charles felt as if the weight together with the one of the golden coronet being put upon his head would drag him down to the floor. But Henry took him by his shoulders, gently pulling him up to his feet.

"Arise, Your Grace."

A role of parchment was given to him, the patent of his nobility, and with polite applause from the crowd, Henry embraced him firmly.

"You look really lordly, my friend," he said lowly. "Let us have some wine tonight, we have much to discuss. Agreed?"

"Gladly," Charles replied in the same manner, then a bit louder, "Thank you, Your Majesty."

The look in the teal eyes was one of utter satisfaction as Henry gestured at him to take his place among the nobles standing behind the throne.

Charles only wished he could have shared his King's feeling.

* * *

It was already late when Henry finally summoned him to his chambers, still, Charles found his friend in a very cheerful mood, having already replaced his formal clothing with more casual wear. The sleeves of his white, collarless shirt were rolled up to the elbow and he wore a simple leather vest instead of an overcoat.

"Bring the wine and then you may leave us," he ordered his groom nonchalantly. Charles sniffed as the wine was brought and an unmistakable flavour reached his nose.

"Is that spiced wine? In August?"

"Yes," Henry grinned, pouring the damping red wine in two cups. "The last days were cold and I just felt like it tonight." He passed him one of the cups, raising his own. "Well, here's to you, Charles. My Duke Suffolk."

The same laughed a little and took a sip to hide his abashment. The wine was really good, tasting of an unfamiliar mixture of spices and its warmth seemed to spread through his entire body at once.

"You know, I'm perfectly aware that we've seen each other too little the previous weeks," Henry continued, "but I promise I am going to change that."

"Don't give a word you can't keep." Charles raised his eyebrows, though still smiling. "After all, you're intending to send me to Lisbon, aren't you?"

"Well, yes," Henry sighed, his fingers absent-mindedly circling the seam of his cup. "And actually, I'm not looking forward to the prospect of having you away from court. Still, there had to be at least some kind of reason for your ennoblement and the opportunity seemed to be fitting."

"So the story that you were in need of an escort for your sister you could trust was all made up?"

"No, as a matter of fact, that is the truth. But it was not the major reason for my decision."

The thoughtful look in the pale eyes and the sound of his words made Charles prick his ears in attention. Since Henry obviously had something on his mind he wanted to talk about, Charles only leaned back, sipping on his wine again. It went to his head surprisingly fast, so he shook his head to get rid of a sudden feeling of dizziness and then looked at Henry expectantly.

"Do you sometimes remember the times when we were youths, Charles?" As his friend only nodded, Henry continued, lost in his thoughts. "For I enjoy the memory from time to time. Yet I only remember an endless row of sunny days, full of hunting, laughing, jousting, tennis, drinking… ah, and beautiful women, of course." An impish grin flitted over his face. "And then there was the day I became King of England and I thought life couldn't possibly get any better, yet…" He slowly shook his head as if to get rid of the memory. "For you and your friends, life's still one big celebration, isn't it? You dwell at my court, feasting and sporting and seducing the ladies with no responsibility at all but to keep me company once in a while. Whereas I am busy with foreign treaties, monetary and regulative policies, requests and complicated decisions the entire day, always discussing and arguing with men twice my age I do not really know behind their mask of courtliness and therefore cannot trust them. But I can assure you, Charles, half of them would have loved to see Buckingham replacing me, and the other half wants me to be their puppet on a string they can steer to their advantage."

"Well, Buckingham's dead," Charles answered slowly, wondering how oddly the sound of own voice reverberated in his own ears.

Henry waved the argument aside. "Yes, because I knew he was a danger. How many are there I do not know about, I wonder? No Charles, I need men at my side that I can trust and who are absolutely loyal to me. In other words, I need men like you."

Charles didn't answer to this, but absent-mindedly watched the fingers of his right hand, playing idly with the empty cup in his hand. The tiny gemstone splints in his silver Tudor rose ring glittered mysteriously in the flickering light from the fireplace and for a moment, all his attention was caught by the beautiful play of colours.

"Everything all right, Charles?" Henry's voice sounded rather amused than angry.

"Yes. No." Charles frowned a little. He felt a little numb and every sensible thought seemed to melt away before he could track it further, as if he had drunk an entire flagon of wine and not only one cup. Strangely, at the same time his senses seemed to be crystal clear and sensitive, with every crack of the firewood, every change of shadow and light catching his attention anew. "What the hell is in that wine?"

"Some spices from India one of my merchants recently gave me as a present. I thought we could just give them a try tonight," Henry shrugged innocently. "Maybe you should drink a little slower." In contrast to his words, he stood up and refilled Charles' cup as he spoke, grinning as their eyes met. "Don't get used to me serving you, Your Grace."

"Oh come on, stop calling me this," Charles muttered, regretting his words only an instant later when the warmth and cheerfulness in Henrys eyes suddenly dropped to zero.

"Why should I?" And when Charles didn't answer immediately, still trying to make his distracted sense keep up with this sudden change of mood, Henry put the damping flagon down to the table forcefully. "Again, Charles, _why should I_?"

"All right, forget about it!" Charles raised a hand in a pacifying gesture. "I was talking nonsense and…"

"I thought you were grateful for your ennoblement and your title. At least you told me so."

"Majesty, I am, but…"

"But?" Henry asked furtively, putting both hands on the armrests of Charles' chair, thereby trapping him in. The pale eyes pierced him, daring him to come up with any cheap excuse and Charles felt himself unable to look away.

"… but I'm not sure if I deserve it," were the lame words that finally came out of his mouth.

"Elaborate."

Charles clenched his jaw, finding it was nearly impossible to come up with something clever, with his mind being so clouded and Henry looking at him like that. "All right. I do not know how to be a duke. I do not know how a duke has to behave, think, talk, drink, dance, walk, fuck or whatever it is that makes a high-ranking nobleman. I'm not a duke, I'm a nobody with the title of a duke, and everyone in this damn court knows that!"

He waited for an outburst, but it never came, just a cynical smile playing around Henrys lips. "Then now you know how I felt when I was made king at the age of seventeen."

"No, Henry, it's not the same," Charles disagreed sluggishly, knowing that he was going to lose the argument. "You knew you were going to be king before and you were prepared for it."

"Does that mean you doubt my decision?"

"No. I mean, I don't know. I…" He could think of no answer that wouldn't conjure up a disaster. "I just want to be your friend. As I used to be."

Suddenly the warmth returned to the pale eyes, together with a spark of humour. "You are. But solely… I'm afraid this isn't possible anymore."

"But I'm only going to..."

_Disappoint you_, he wanted to say when a gentle hand took his chin, the thumb being placed over his lips, bidding him silence.

"Enough of that."

Charles could only stare at him, completely stunned and for a moment there was utter silence in the little room but for the low cracking of the firewood. Then Henry sighed, in the so familiar way only Henry could sigh, softly, but with a hint of impatience, raising Charles' head only a little and his friend willingly obliged, lips parting slightly…

Yet he was not prepared for the fierceness he was met with, not prepared for Henry claiming his lips with unrestrained greed and breathtaking eagerness. As from a far distance he heard the clashing when his cup hit the ground, but he didn't care since the warmth from the spiced wine inside his stomach seemed to explode to a wildfire. It sent a searing flame through his body right into his loins and he gasped, taken aback by the abnormal, forceful reaction of his physique. They lunged at each other as if they entered a fray, hands clutching, yanking at the other one almost desperately. Charles yelped when Henry's teeth fiercely dug into his lower lip as he dragged him out of the chair, and, stumbling, they both fell hard to the cold stone floor, breathing heavily. Henry came to lie over Charles, immediately grabbing his wrists as his friend lifted himself onto his forearms. Their faces were only inches apart and Charles could see the firelight mirrored in Henry's pale eyes, accentuating the desire flaring inside them.

"Your Grace," Henry whispered huskily, a devilish smile playing around his lips, "I'm afraid I cannot be gentle with you right now."

"Majesty…" Charles reply was soft, though tempting. "Then don't."

* * *

He woke up from the glare of the sun that shone directly into his face and for a few moments he only blinked into the sunlight, numbly wondering why he hadn't shut the bed curtains the night before. And then his memory returned full force and he sat up abruptly, almost immediately grimacing, since his body felt all battered and stiff as if he had fought a battle the previous day. The chambers looked correspondingly, with feathers from a torn open cushion covering the floor like snowflakes. The curtain to the adjoining study was halfway ripped down and gave a perfect view into the other room, chairs that had been turned over, clothes spread all over the floor together with pools of red wine. Henry only stared at the chaos for a moment, then lowly began to chuckle, letting himself fall back onto the bed. Damn, had he ever have a wild night comparable to the last one? He couldn't remember though he really wasn't short of comparison. Still, the memory of the previous evening seemed washed-out and blurry, with few images slowly returning to his mind.

_Breathless moans and outcries from both their throats echoing in his ears; sweat gleaming red in the firelight on the muscular back bent over the toppled chair before him. One hand leaving the hip, running along the spine, a gesture more possessive than anything else. Ecstatic rush and friction, built-up desire that is impossible to hold back when the hand returns to its former place, tightening the grip. The frantic rhythm their bodies are joined in increasing, hard and fast, thrust after thrust, each one crying triumphantly, yet without a sound, you're mine, you're mine, you're mine…_

He had stuck to his promise of not being gentle, that was for sure.

Henry's gaze returned to the bed and the outstretched figure next to him, lying on his stomach, the head buried in the crook of his arm so that nothing was visible other than messed-up brown hair. Obviously Charles was still fast asleep, but Henry had no ambitions to wake his friend right now. Instead he let his eyes slowly wander over the well-toned body whose amenities he had enjoyed greedily last night and whose mere sight was enough to stir his blood even now. Still, their savage coupling had left visible marks, some treacherous, purple bruises at neck and shoulders and a small graze at the left temple.

_Soft glowing of the embers illuminating deliciously naked skin and highlighting the play of muscles tensing only for a moment in surprise as arms wrap around the slender waist._

_"Where do you think you're going, hm?" Gentle, yet furtively, hot breath on cooling skin._

_"Getting some more wine?" Amusement, with a hint of arousal. "You made me a little thirsty."_

_"And I hoped I'd rather wetted your appetite." A hand roughly grasping hard flesh between the thighs, grey eyes widening, soft gasping, laughter. "Seems that pleases Your Grace?"_

_A gentle push in the direction of the wall, but then a stumble, one body pulling the other one down in a last attempt at clinging to something, both going down together with half of the silken curtain, falling onto each other again. A little moan, then soft laughter. Fingers carefully touching the small, darker spot where skin had met the stone wall._

_"It's nothing… Let's make it to the bed and you can pick up where you left off…"_

_Lips meeting, a fierce, passionate kiss full of dark promises. "No objections."_

Slowly Henry reached out, running a hand down the spine as he'd done so often the night before, not getting enough of the feeling of hard muscles beneath the sweaty skin. He comfortably stretched out next to his friend then, propped up on one elbow, gently drawing invisible lines between the little bruises on the shoulders. Charles muttered something unintelligible and sighed softly. Henry smiled, yet finally deciding it was time to wake him up. He didn't know how late it was, yet he wasn't keen on his grooms being worried about their king and dropping in just to find him with his newly invested duke in bed.

"Charles." No reaction, so Henry nestled a little closer against the sleeper, pressing a kiss on the shoulder blade. "Charles…"

A soft moan and some light movements rewarded his efforts and with a grin, he slowly approached his friend's ear, whispering teasingly, "Darling duke…"

A low chuckle was the response, then some sluggish blinking. "Henry…"

_"Henry…!"  
It comes out as an outcry at the peak of lust, hands clutching the sheets, the body writhing and tensing, rearing for a last time before finally coming down again, spent, exhausted, gasping for breath. Hands finally pulling back, a vague feeling of satisfaction and pride, yet the urge of own, still unfulfilled lust. The air smelling of a sweet, exciting mixture of sweat, spent lust, aromatic oil and the remainders of the spicy wine. _

_"And I thought… I thought I shouldn't get used to you… serving me…" Breathless laughter._

_A soft growl is the only answer and then the outstretched, tempting body is pressed deep down into the mattress again. Hungry eyes never leave the familiar face, not even to blink, sucking in every detail greedily, how the jaw clenches and the grey eyes shut for a moment, the little twitching around the lips. The welcoming body and warmth are much more compliant than last time with all the tension being already released, yet it has the same breathtaking effect._

The simple memory conjured up by Charles muttering his name was enough to fully arouse him and Henry couldn't help but throwing his arm around his friend, pulling him a little closer. His eyes fell on the small phial of body oil that miraculously still stood on the bedside cabinet instead of lying on the floor like everything else.

"How are you feeling?" he muttered into Charles' ear while reaching for the phial.

"Like someone… that has been overrun by a carriage," Charles mumbled, grimacing, and Henry chuckled lowly into his ear, uncorking the phial and applying some drops of the aromatic oil to his fingers.

"Well, no need for you to get up, you can just stay like this for a while."

A hand sliding between the firm buttocks left no doubt about what Henry was implying and gently, his fingers began to rub the oil in. Charles grimaced a little and muttered something as Henry slightly shifted his weight, playfully kissing the bruises on his neck. "What did you say? What am I?"

Charles repeated the word and Henry had to laugh, biting into the spot where neck and shoulder met. "Look who's talking. Still… I guess that counts as _lèse__majesté_,and I could have you punished for it. "

"I'm shivering with fear, Majesty," Charles teased lazily, yelping only an instant later when one finger suddenly pushed into him in an unexpected, rough movement.

"Careful…" Henry hissed into his friend's ear, delighted to feel that perfect, well-toned body beneath his hands first tensing up and then slowly relaxing again. "I just wanted to be gentle, so behave," he added, sighing with pleasure into the brown, dishevelled hair.

Charles didn't protest, which Henry counted as acquiescence, and so he went on preparing and warming him up cautiously. Due to last night's action, his friend was a little oversensitive and so it didn't take Henry long to have him moaning and writhing on the sheets. The mere sight made it impossible for him to wait any longer. Using some more oil to make Charles as comfortable as it was possible regarding his friend's soreness, he rolled onto him, joining their bodies in a slow movement. Again the feeling nearly overwhelmed him, but, fighting his instincts that told him to thrust in hard and bury his member entirely into this alluring heat and tightness, he gave Charles some time to adjust before gently pushing in.

It was different from last night, not the feverish, unrestrained coupling driven from unsatisfied lust and desire. This one was more lovemaking, slow and gentle, taking all the time of the world to enjoy each other. And when Charles turned his head to meet his gaze, Henry involuntarily had to think back to his dream because of the look in the grey eyes and without hesitating, he leaned in for an affectionate, playful kiss.

He felt as if he could go on like this forever, just the two of them together, melding into each other without any haste, warmed by the rising morning sun. Yet a short knock on the door interrupted them unceremoniously and Henry froze in his movements.

"Your Majesty?" the muffled question came from the door.

"Damn!" Henry swore softly, pulling back and being out of the bed just as the knocking at the door grew louder and more urgent. "Your Majesty? Is everything all right?"

It was that moment when Henry remembered that he and Charles had blocked the door yesterday with the backrest of a chair – either as a matter of prudence, or, what was more likely considering their drugged state, just for the devilment.

"I am perfectly well, except for this uproar early in the morning," Henry roared loudly, then gestured wildly at Charles who had just sat up, to get dressed.

"But Your Majesty, it is almost eleven. You have an audience with the Impirial Ambassador in an hour and…"

_Eleven?_ A short gaze at the clock on the fireplace showed that the groom spoke the truth. _Bloody hell._

"Alright, just give me a minute, will you be so kind?" Henry snapped, reaching for his black morning gown to wrap it around himself. The peace of the morning was gone, worse, the fact that only one blocked chair had prevented a scandal made him kind of edgy. After all, he had never planned on Charles staying here for so long. For some moments Henry just stood there, staring at the door angrily as if it was to blame for the disturbance.

"Majesty?" Charles' voice ripped him out of his dark thoughts. "I guess I'd better leave now."

Henry nodded absent-mindedly but turned around just as his friend turned to leave, catching his wrist.

"We have a tennis match set this afternoon, Your Grace. Don't you dare forget it."

"Forget? Nah, Majesty, I'm gonna finish you off," Charles muttered back, a wanton glitter in his eyes. Henry smiled and let go of his wrist reluctantly, watching as Charles headed for the second door in his bedroom, the one that could only be opened from inside his chambers and led to a corridor of the palace. One last, conspiratorial smile and then the door fell shut, leaving Henry alone.

For a moment he closed his eyes, releasing a deep breath, then gazed at his chambers that looked as though they'd been hit by a thunderstorm. He would have to come up with a very good explanation for that, however, it shouldn't be that hard

After all, he was still the King of England, and that fact surely had its advantages sometimes.

_I'd wake up, and make love to you if I had you  
I would touch you so much, but I'm not allowed to  
What I hate is to wait, but in this case I'm patient  
I'm discreet, I'm not weak, I just need the moment_

If I leaned over and tried to kiss you  
Would I be wrong, after so long to kiss you?  
Would you pretend we're only friends, if I kissed you?  
At least I can dream of you in a scene, when I'd kiss you 

_~ Iio, Kiss you ~_


	4. IV Gentleness

**Title:** Fortune's Favours  
**Pairing:** Charles Brandon / Henry Tudor  
**Rating:** M  
**Story Summary: ** The story follows the storyline of the show, except for the fact that the King and his favorite Duke get a little closer in its course than in the original, making everything even more complicated. ;-)  
**Disclaimer:** The Tudors belong to Showtime, I have absolutely no claim on the characters, the storyline etc.

**A/N:** I know the Tudors are in many points not exactly what you'd call historically accurate, still, in this fanfiction I decided to go with the Showtime version to avoid confusions.  
Thanks to all my readers for rewieving. Special thanks to Narya for beta-reading depite having to finish a term paper and to Bunnster for sharing her amazingly detailed knowledge about the Tudor era with me and always finding the little historical inaccuracies I make.

**Chapter Summary:** A jousting tournament is held and Charles has to learn that having an affair with the King of England is really playing with fire.  
**Chapter Warnings:** Explicit Slash

**_IV  
_**

**_Gentleness_**

Routinely, Charles rechecked all the buckles and straps of the saddle and then flattened his black's caparison, patting his neck before finally nodding at his groom. Of course the horse had been saddled and armoured perfectly, yet he had always liked to convince himself that everything was alright when it came to either battle or jousting. Especially, when he was up to both, or so he guessed he was.

He gently encouraged his horse after his groom helped him to get up, heading for the sideline of the list field. It was a beautiful day for a tournament with the late summer's sun spending enough warmth to enjoy the day out for the audience, but not so hot that the competitors boiled in their armour. Colourful ribbons and standards flattered in the soft breeze and the sound of trumpets, of galloping hooves and crushing lances together with the occasional cheering from the tribune contributed to the familiar feeling of excitement.

"Your Grace. I hope you are feeling well?"

Charles couldn't hide a smirk, still he bowed his head in a respectful gesture for the approaching rider. "Your Majesty. Thank you, I am perfectly well."

"Glad to hear," Henry replied in a casual tone, pretending to watch the ongoing tournament where two opponents just took up their lances. "I was already worried about our little wager, since I haven't seen you ride up to now. Worse, I have been wondering if it was my fault since I was riding you half of last night."

Charles met the quick, challenging glance from the side with seemingly unimpressed composure. "No need to worry, Majesty, I've spared myself for you."

"Good choice, I'd say." The dark promises in Henry's voice could not be easily overheard. However, though sending a shiver down his spine, Charles wasn't short of a reply.

"So our bet's still going? I take you down from your horse and then take you down later?"

Henry stared at him for a moment and then gave a short, derisive laugh.

"Try me, darling duke." And without giving Charles the chance for another answer, he urged his horse forward without glancing back.

If someone had told him only some weeks ago that words like these from a man's mouth would manage to stir up his blood, Charles would have probably laughed at that person. After all, he had a reputation as the most notorious squire of dames at court, perhaps aside from the King himself. But maybe that was the solution to the puzzle of his feelings – after all, Henry was not any man but the King of England. And Charles had long ago given up looking for reason or logic in his actions when Henry was involved, for the simple fact that there were none.

He spotted Anthony a few yards away, who turned his head and smiled faintly as Charles approached him.

"Well, well, how about that? His Grace gives us the honour of his presence."

"Of course he does, since he'd never miss out on jousting, as you know," Charles grinned.

"Still, we haven't seen you around a lot the last days. Your new title seems to bring a lot of responsibilities. Or a lot of women respectively."

_Or a king with an insatiable appetite,_ Charles added in his head, deciding that it was time for a little evasion. "One woman, to be honest. She wants me to store half of the palace into one small boat, so there's a lot of scheduling, planning and so on."

"That I may live to see this, a woman troubling the great Charles Brandon," Anthony teased, yet it was not with the usual cheerfulness. There was some kind of aloofness in his friend's behaviour and words Charles clearly felt, yet it was subtle enough that he couldn't put a finger on it.

"Well, Princess Margaret would be the first Lady I have to leave unsatisfied, and I'm not going to take that," he joked back with an uneasy feeling in his stomach. Luckily, their conversation came to a sudden end when trumpets and loud cheering announced a new competitor.

"My Lords, the King now has entered the list."

"Well, Anthony, wish me luck," Charles muttered with a quick glance at the brown horse prancing along the tribune, with Henry in his shining armour on it.

"You are going to take the King?" Anthony raised his eyebrows.

"You bet I will," Charles grinned while already urging his horse, giving the announcer a short sign.

"His Grace, the Duke of Suffolk, makes the challenge _à plaisance_!"

An intrigued murmur ran through the crowd and especially the young ladies craned their necks. It was quite unusual that Charles and Henry jousted against each other since Charles had never been able to entirely banish the terrible though from his mind that he might accidentally hurt his friend. Still, it had been Henry who had proposed the wager and made it almost impossible for Charles to reject it.

_"Well, what do you say, darling duke? Isn't that a generous offer?"Henry's fingers were still caressing his chest lazily, yet Charles knew perfectly well the lion's claws could come out every moment if he said the wrong thing now. "You'll get what you want… if you beat me on Saturday."_

_"You'll be a single bruise after I've thrown you into the mud, Majesty," Charles teased back playfully, trying to mask his concern. "It won't be much fun for me."_

_"Are you afraid of hurting me?" Henry's eyes glittered in mockery as he reached out to pinch one nipple hard enough to make his friend cringe. "For Christ's sake, you'd think I am lying in bed with a timid little maid." _

_With an angry growl, Charles slapped away his hand and then grabbed the wrist, pulling Henry closer. "All right. What do you get when you win?"_

_"Oh, it's not much," Henry purred, slowly leaning in until his lips almost touched Charles'. His next words were no more than a faint whisper, yet sending a shiver through his lover's body. _

_"I want you in chains, darling duke. I want you to kneel on the stone floor for me, not able to move a single hand and endure everything I put you through. And I want to tease and play with your body until you utterly surrender to me and finally beg me to fuck you."_

_The tension between them was almost tangible for a moment until Charles finally released his breath._

_"That… sounds… twisted."_

_"I know." Henry's smile was that of a very self-satisfied cat. "Are you in?"_

The coats of arms were displayed visibly on the pole, the royal three lions and the fleur-de-lis on the left and the single golden lion on red and white stripes of the Brandon family on the right. Charles went through the preliminaries mechanically, taking up the lance and parading with it in front of the tribune, paying respect to the Queen and asking for the favours of a blushing young maid on the tribune. And every second he felt the piercing pale eyes watching him until they finally took in their places and closed the visors of the helmets.

The flag went down and Charles' trained jousting horse shot forward without any encouragement needed. Hooves boomed along the list, both horses approaching with incredible speed and Charles lifted himself up in the stirrups, aiming at his opponent and…

Often it is only a tiny moment of indecision or hesitation in jousting that makes the decision. A fleeting thought crossed his mind _– please, don't make me hurt him – _and the next moment something hard crashed against his head like a hammer, throwing it backwards and for an instant, everything around him seemed to fade to black. Then his senses returned and he realized that he was reeling dangerously on his horse's back that fell to a slow walk again. Quick-wittedly, Charles managed to grab his saddle, holding himself in place while his head was still buzzing and aching. Moreover, he seemed to have bitten his tongue since he tasted blood in his mouth.

"Two points for His Majesty!"

And then there was a supporting arm around his shoulders and the helmet was pulled from his head, giving way for fresh air and his senses cleared again.

"Charles? Are you all right?" There was real concern in Henry's voice; however, as Charles nodded, obviously recovering from the blow, he lowly added, "And I thought you'd be used to me thrusting you by now."

"Fuck you, Henry," Charles muttered, though not entirely able to ban a weak grin from his face.

"Only if you do better than this next round." A small pat on his back, then Henry returned the helmet and turned his horse to get back to his starting position. Charles grimaced and spat out some blood, still, aside from his bitten tongue and his pride, he wasn't injured.

Two points for a strike at the head. That meant he either had to dismount Henry next round or to yield to his King as his plaything for the entire of the night. Chances were small, yet he wouldn't give up now.

His groom handed him another lance and he returned to the starting pole, readjusting his helmet that had a visible dent at the front.

_Focus. You want that man, so go and get what you want. Don't be prissy, he isn't either. _

And somehow he managed to push it all out of his head for a moment and see only his opponent, neither the king nor the lover or the friend. The flag fell and the horses shot forward, lances aiming at gleaming armours… and this time, Charles's lance found his aim, with a satisfying sound crashing against his opponent, the blowback pushing himself back into his saddle.

"_A terre!_ His Grace wins the day!"

Charles reined his horse and looked back, spotting the brown stallion slowly coming to a stop with an empty saddle. Triumph shot through his body, just to be replaced an instant later by sudden anxiety when he saw the motionless body in the sand.

And outcry went through the crowd and various people jumped from their seats to hurry to their fallen King. Charles urged his horse, utter horror spreading through his body when he arrived at his friend's side, climbing out of his saddle and kneeling next to Henry. Just as he wanted to grab his shoulders, an arm came up and slapped his hand away.

"Do. Not. Touch me."

"Oh thank God…" Charles muttered, his hands falling down to his knees as relief streamed in. Henry slowly removed his helmet, looking dishevelled and annoyed, but rather unharmed.

"Your Majesty, is everything all right?"

"Your Majesty…"

People were gathering around them, concerned questions came up and helpful hands were extended.

"Yes, I'm fine," Henry snapped back, ignoring the hands, his pale eyes still trained on Charles. "You. Back off. I don't want to see you until I call for you, is that understood?"

"Majesty, I'm…"

"Remove yourself. Now," Henry growled dangerously low.

Charles suppressed a sigh, slowly rising from the list and leaving with a last look at Henry who as well carefully came up to his feet. There would be an aftermath to this situation he wasn't really looking forward to and, in fact, this had been the second reason why he hadn't been eager for the wager Henry had offered him.

After all, the King was notorious for being the worst loser at court.

* * *

Henry called for him in the late evening hours, which was earlier than Charles had expected for someone with a nature as unforgiving as his King. When he arrived, Henry was resting in his armchair, wearing only his pants and boots and the black silken gown fell open to leave the chest bare. It was a rather appealing sight, except for the bluish-black bruise on the ribs being clearly visible in the soft firelight. Since he wasn't entirely sure of what to think about this, Charles simply bowed formally.

"Your Majesty."

"Read this."

Henry's voice was blank of emotion, so Charles picked up the piece of parchment Henry was pointing at and started to read, glad about the opportunity to have something else to look at. It was a religious pamphlet, he quickly discovered, condemning Luther and his doctrine and, in the same way, praising the Holy Church of Rome and papacy. And as ever, his King hadn't minced matters in any way but given way to his feelings vividly.

"So? What do you think?" Henry asked the moment he had finished skimming over the text.

"It's good, really," Charles replied carefully, "though you should rather ask some scholars about it, like your friend Thomas More or the Cardinal Wolsey. Will you send a copy of it to Rome? "

"Indeed. To Rome and to all important princes in Europe. There can be no doubt that Luther is a damnable heretic who has to be stopped at all costs. Still, I have been told that he gains followers in the German states quickly, and is even guest of one of their princes. It just cannot be tolerated!"

"You're really passionate about this, aren't you?" Charles asked intrigued and Henry smiled a little.

"Actually I am. It is my deepest conviction that Luther has to be burned together with his heretic doctrine. Moreover, I am convinced that I am chosen to be the one defending our Christendom in the first place. After all, I owe the Lord quite a lot of penance, don't you think?"

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence between them until Henry beckoned him over and down, lightly placing a hand on Charles' cheek.

"You never waste a thought about that, do you?" he whispered. "That it is actually sin what we're doing here? That you and I are committing the disgustful act of sodomy almost every night?"

"I have thought about it," Charles answered hesitatingly, not sure what exactly Henry was aiming at.

"And your conclusions, Your Grace?" The hand was moving, tracing his jaw and closing playfully around the nape of his neck.

"Well… I think…" He ached to lean into his friend's caresses, yet he knew better than to fall for them right now. Still, they made him feel all edgy and it was considerably harder to speak. "As a loyal servant of His Majesty I believe that to serve my king is to serve God. So my conscience is clear, for that matter."

"How good for you," Henry replied mockingly, absent-mindedly toying with the curls at Charles' nape. "So the charge is once again all mine, I guess – while you are enjoying all privileges of nobility including the estates and the little fortune I endowed you with."

"Hold on!" Charles pulled himself together and straightened so that his face was out of Henry's reach. "The only privileges of my nobility I have enjoyed so far are disdainful glances from the court as well as an endless amount of travel arrangements since your sister sends me her chamberlain almost every day with some extra demands. I haven't even seen my estates up to now, since you don't want to let me leave court. And on top of that –" He broke off when he got aware of the dangerous glitter in Henry's eyes, yet it was already too late.

"Yes, Charles? And on top of that… _what?_"

"Majesty, after all it was you who wanted me in your bed," Charles replied as matter-of-factly as it was possible speaking about such a delicate topic.

"Are you actually trying to suggest you didn't want it at all?" Henry spat, his hands closing tighter around the armrests of his chair.

"No, Majesty, I don't, but…" Still, Henry didn't let him a chance to speak.

"You're such a terrible hypocrite, Charles. On the one hand, you act like a fucking virgin, blaming your lewd King for literally dragging you to his bed and denying all kind of responsibility, while on the other hand you help yourself shamelessly to all the advantages you can get from this. If I am the only one in charge and the only one who wants this, how come you're so eager to lay me that you've let yourself in for our wager?"

Charles had to stifle another sharp-tongued response that would have bought him real trouble for sure. However, he now had a very good idea why Henry was that combative and nitpicky and therefore changed his tactic to calm the waves a little.

"Henry, if this is about our wager… just forget about that, if you like. I will surely not insist on something that makes my King feel uncomfortable in any way."

The same hesitated for a moment, visibly surprised about Charles giving in that easily.

"Well, you've already done that quite well this afternoon," he finally growled.

"I know and I'm sorry for that," Charles said gently and returned to Henry's armchair, bending down and lightly placing his hands on his friend's arms in a placable, seductive gesture. Pale eyes were staring at him and though Charles felt Henry tensing at his touch, he gave no answer. Feeling encouraged, Charles leaned in until their lips were only inches apart.

"Majesty, with your permission… may I try to soothe your pain?" he whispered against Henry's lips, knowing that the use of formalities in love play never failed to stir his blood.

"Granted, I guess." The answer came delayed and a little husky, bringing a small smile to Charles' lips he quickly hid by leaning in for a gentle kiss. But his lips left his friend's only an instant later to wander down his neck and caress the shoulders.

It was really an odd thing and Henry would have surely ripped his head off if he'd be so stupid to tell him, yet basically, seducing the King of England worked exactly like seducing most of the women Charles had bedded in the recent years. They needed to be courted, wanted to see some of a man's devotion to them before they opened their legs for him. With Henry, things were naturally far more complicated. He'd damaged his King's pride in the afternoon, enough that Henry would never give him his prize simply for the fact that he feared he would no longer hold the reins in their strange affair anymore. Still, if it was some act of devotion he needed to be reassured of Charles' loyalty… he could have that.

And so his caresses took a slow pathway down Henry's chest, paying special attention to the bruise over his ribs, kissing the bashed skin until he finally heard a small sigh from his lover's lips. Then Charles finally knelt down between his legs, opening the laces of his pants that showed a visible bulge already. After all, he had satisfied dozens of women that way, it couldn't be much harder with a man, could it? At least the fierce moan from Henry's lips when his mouth closed around hardened flesh proved him right.

"Bloody hell…"

"Everything all right?" Charles teased, raising his head just a little. "Majesty…?"

"Shut up and go on," Henry growled, his right hand digging into his friend's dark curls, nudging him impatiently. Charles had to stifle a laugh but hurried to lower his head again in pretended compliance.

He had always enjoyed this part of lovemaking for the power rush it gave him. Just to hear Henry's moans was thrilling enough, but to look up and watch his facial expression in the firelight, changing from arousal to frustration and back when Charles erratically teased him with his tongue or to feel his grip in his hair tighten when he went about it a little faster and more steady was priceless. He could have stretched this out for hours; still, he didn't want Henry to be worn out entirely. The body under his hands shivered, tensed and then finally relaxed with a sigh of release, salty warmth filling his mouth and he swallowed it without thinking.

"God, Charles… you're a devil," Henry sighed after some moments of recovering, reaching out to stroke his face gently.

"I guess this means you liked it, thank you very much," Charles teased him, resting his chin on one of his lover's thighs.

Henry didn't reply to this but seemed to be lost in his thoughts, absent-mindedly tracing Charles' lips with his fingertips while his friend let him take his time. There was absolutely no need to rush things right now.

"Do you still want to bed me?" Henry finally asked out of the blue, though Charles had expected the question.

"I'd love to. Still… as I said, you don't have to do this."

"Of course I don't have to. At least, if I don't mind feeling like a selfish prick for the next days," Henry sighed. "Will you at least be gentle with me?"

"Majesty… I swear I'll handle you with kid gloves," Charles replied, seeming serious, but inside gloating with triumph.

"Don't you dare that," Henry growled, giving him a light smack on the back of his head. Then he rose from his armchair with a soft groan. "Come on then." He walked over to his sleeping chamber and Charles followed him, a content grin spread all over his face.

And he was indeed gentle that night, restraining his own desire to make his friend feel as comfortable as possible, much unlike their first night together. Henry was not as tensed up as Charles had expected and quite receptive for his attempts to gently ease and seduce him. The cracking of the fire and their soft moans and whispers were the only sounds in the chamber, their entangled bodies and the shared warmth the only thing that mattered and for some sweet, precious moments Charles could forget about everything, the court, their positions, the difference in power, their forbidden, sinful affair… for it didn't matter right now. It was just Henry and him, sharing this precious moment of intimacy together and he just wished they'd never have to let go of each other.

It was maybe during these moments when Charles realized just how madly he was in love with him.

_And the world around us won't stop turning tonight,  
I like, I like.  
I'm losing control right now and I feel it's right,  
I like, I like.  
We're caught in this moment, I won't let you go,  
and the world around us won't stop turning tonight.  
I like, I like, I like, I like._

_~ Keri Hilson, I Like ~_


	5. V Honesty

**Title:** Fortune's Favours  
**Pairing:** Charles Brandon / Henry Tudor  
**Rating:** M  
**Story Summary: ** The story follows the storyline of the show, except for the fact that the King and his favorite Duke get a little closer in its course than in the original, making everything even more complicated. ;-)  
**Disclaimer:** The Tudors belong to Showtime, I have absolutely no claim on the characters, the storyline etc.  
**A/N:** I know the Tudors are in many points not exactly what you'd call historically accurate, still, in this fanfiction I decided to go with the Showtime version to avoid confusions.  
As always, I'll be delighted about all kinds of review. And **Narya**, honey, thank you so much for beta-reading it not once but twice! You're simply the best!

**Chapter Summary:** Henry makes the acquaintance of a certain young woman named Anne Boleyn, which is not to Charles' liking at all  
**Chapter Warnings:** none, except for the usual slash context of course

**_V_**

**_Honesty_**

"Gentlemen!" A short clap of William Cornish, dressed up in crimson satin robes, made the laughter and the jokes die down for a moment. "I just heard that the Cardinal and the ambassadors have finished supper and are on their way now. So if you're all ready, I'd ask you to follow me."

The eight young men, all dressed up in black leather tunics adorned with gold, slowly strolled towards the door, joking and taking their time, except for one, who was still searching the small chamber and their cast off daily clothes hastily. Henry let himself fall behind inconspicuously and waited until the last of the others had left the room, quietly closing the door behind him.

"Looking for this, Your Grace?" he teased, taking out the golden Venetian mask he had held hidden behind his back. Charles stopped his efforts, looked up and a grin spread over his face.

"Guess I should have known."

However, as he came over and reached for the mask, Henry pulled it away playfully. A devilish smile flicked over his face when he grabbed his friend instead, pushing him against the wall and claiming his mouth in a fierce, hungry kiss. The way how Charles' lips parted invitingly, the feeling of the slightly raspy stubble against his own skin and of hard muscles tensing under black leather was already enough to made Henry wish they could just skip the entire masquerade thing and be all over each other right here. His right hand travelled up a thigh and then roughly closed around hardening flesh, drawing a hardly suppressed moan from Charles' lips.

"Alas, Mylord, does that fit Honesty?" he teased back a little breathless, playfully pulling at the strap with the golden letters draped over Henry's shoulder. "Taking away my belongings to delay me and seduce me secretly?"

"Does it fit Honesty to go out, striving for the female graces while he in his heart desires the ones of the man at his right?" Henry answered gently. "And shall I tell you honestly? Right now I wish nothing more than to rip off that costume of yours, push you onto your back and find out how wild Gentleness can be."

The challenging look from half-closed grey eyes almost made him follow the action to the word right now, especially when Charles leaned forward slightly to whisper in his ear:

"You're very welcome to find out later."

* * *

"His Eminence, Cardinal Wolsey and the Spanish Ambassadors Mendoza and Chapuys!"

The court applauded the men politely when they entered the large chamber that was hung with arras and brilliantly lit. Thomas More led them to the four chairs arranged on a small platform in the background, offering an exquisite view on the elaborate wooden construction at the other side of the hall. It was a castle with three towers, painted in blue and red and with battlements in hundreds of pieces of golden tinfoil. They had just taken a seat when a drum interrupted the soft music in the background, indicating a change. Eight young women took their places on the castle, all of them wearing the same dresses and collars of white satin and with golden head-dresses and masks in the Venetian style.

"Who are those ladies?" Mendoza asked intrigued.

"They are the Graces, Excellence," Thomas readily explained. "They have names like Kindness, Honour, Constance, Mercy and Pity. They are prisoners in the castle. The figure to the left, under the broken hearts, is His Majesty's sister, Princess Margaret."

"Who is keeping them prisoner?" That was Chapuys.

"Danger. Jealousy. Unkindness. Scorn. Disdain. Strangeness…" Another group of young women, dressed exactly as the Graces but in black instead of white, now appeared at the battlements. The crowd jeered at the Vices, which they answered by throwing sweetmeats and rose petals at them.

After some moments, Thomas turned inconspicuously and looked at the entrance; still, there was no sign of the young men yet. Since he had already seen one of the rehearsals, he was pretty sure there shouldn't be so much time between the arrival of the female vices and the male virtues. Was there anything wrong?

* * *

"There they are!"

"Finally!"  
"Your Majesty! Your Grace!" William Cornish hurried towards them, visible relief on his face. "Where have you been, we've been looking for you all over…"

"Master Cornish, forgive us," Henry interrupted him gently, "the Duke of Suffolk couldn't find his mask and I helped him searching."

"Well, Master Cornish, what did I say to you?" William threw in amusedly."You'd find His Majesty and the duke together. And how else could it be, since honesty, without gentleness, is nothing but brutality and gentleness, without honesty, is nothing but sentimentality?"

The two missing laughed together with the other men, except for William Cornish, who was hastily peeking through the crack in the door. "Well, never mind. We have to go out right now."

Henry quickly glanced at Charles, hiding a smile and averting his eyes when he saw that his friend was doing exactly the same thing. But then the sound of trumpets announcing their arrival interrupted them when they entered the hall with long strides and under the cheering of the crowd. William Cornish, at the head of their little group, wielded his wooden sword combatively, dashing in direction of the crowd, while the others took their positions and bowed first to the cardinal and the two ambassadors, then to the castle in front of them.

"As Ardent Desire, I demand you release your prisoners!" Cornish shouted.

"As Lady Scorn, I laugh at your desires," one of the ladies in black replied under the jeering of the audience.

"These men are noble lords!"

"No, they're just men dressed up!" was the mocking response from the battlements.

"I say it again: Release these fair damsels that you keep so cruelly," their spokesman demanded.

More jeering from the audience, still, female resistance did not waver. "Never!"

"You give us no choice but to attack, and breach your defences!"

"No knight shall ever breach mine," Lady Disdain replied with a rather suggestive undertone that made the crowd laugh and even Henry couldn't suppress a smile.

"Lady, desire overcomes all! Attack!"

The men drew their wooden swords, shoots thundered, trumpets blared and the audience cheered with delight. Wielding the wooden sword wildly, Henry led the attack, storming towards the castle under another barrage of sweets and petals. Yet as the male ardour rushed through the gate, female coldness and vices took flight, leaving only the Virtues back without protection. Henry headed for the main tower, where he knew his sister was standing, climbing up the wooden construction and grabbing the wrist of one of the ladies.

And that was when it happened.

Henry had never seen the young woman he was looking at before, or at least he couldn't remember. She had very light skin for her dark hair and a small smile stole across her heart-shaped face when she looked at him. However, it were the eyes that caught his attention, pale blue eyes which seemed to draw him in, alluring him to look for something deep and dangerous within.

He was probably looking her at her like an idiot for several moments before he pulled himself out of this strange feeling of entrancement and his gaze fell on the banner on her left shoulder.

"Perseverance, you are my prisoner now!"

She smiled a little broader and then, finally, released his hand so that he could climb the tower entirely. But when he pulled himself over the wooden battlement, she had already retreated down the stairs, graciously placing her hand onto Charles' arm who was waiting for her a level below. And only for the split of a second Henry felt something like a nagging stitch of jealousy in his chest; however, when he turned and looked at Margaret who was smiling at him, it was already forgotten.

"Sister." Henry formally bowed at her and only the little smile playing around the corners of his mouth showed his affection.

"Brother," she replied in the same manner, placed her hand onto his arm and let him lead her down the stairs and into the hall, where the men and the female Graces were lining up for the following dance. Drums and trumpets ceased in favour of the softer tunes of flute and cembalo.

When they finally put down their masks, Henry quickly glanced over at the young woman again; however, she wasn't looking his way. And then the dance began and he had to concentrate on his dancing partner again, taking one step to the left and to the right, bowing twice at her while she curtsied. But while he went through the familiar parts of the dance almost mechanically, the turns and various changeovers, the thought of the blue eyes with that intense gaze didn't leave his mind.

"I must speak to you," Margaret suddenly said lowly when the promenaded back and forth.

"I trust you've settled all your affairs here, Margaret," Henry replied without looking at her.

"Yes, but…" She didn't get to finish her sentence since he interrupted her instantly, having a very good clue what she wanted to discuss.

"The king has written of his love for you and has eagerness to set eyes on you, having seen your portrait."

A frustrated sigh from her proved him right. "I plead with you, as your sister, don't make me marry him. He's an old man!"

Fortunately, he didn't have to answer to this, since the dance demanded a change of partners at this very moment and Henry found himself standing in front of the woman his thoughts had revolved around for the last minutes.

"Who are you?" he asked her when leading her back and forth just like his sister before.

"Anne," she answered softly. "Anne Boleyn."

_Boleyn._ She had to be Mary's sister then, but at least what he could judge from, she was nothing like her. He vaguely remembered that Thomas Boleyn had two daughters when he first saw them at the Field of Cloth of Gold, but due to the enthusiastic stories of the French King about Mary's talents in bed he had had only eyes for her then. Now he was wondering if he had been struck blind that day. Sure, Mary Boleyn was a pretty girl but she lacked the intriguing and subtle charm of her sister. When she surrounded him in a close circle, he noticed the tiny silver glittering heart on her cheek but before he could think of another question to ask her, they already had to change partners again and shortly after, the dance ended with the men bowing and the ladies curtsying again under the applause of the crowd.

Henry tried to keep an eye on Anne as she walked over to her father and just considered to follow her in a minute when a gentle hand was placed upon his shoulder.

"Your dear sister looks like she's bitten into a very sour apple," Charles lowly muttered at him.

"I know. She's sulky because of the marriage to King Luis," Henry answered, absent-mindedly. "Say, Charles, the lady you were dancing with…"

"Lady Anne Boleyn, you mean?"

"Yes." Henry looked at his friend in surprise and with a slight feeling of distrust. "Why do you know her at all?"

"She's Lady Mary Boleyn's sister and was with us in France," Charles shrugged. "Well, I seldom forget a beautiful woman."

Again, Henry felt this burning stitch of jealousy at his friend's words and before he could hold himself back, he had grabbed Charles' arm harder than intended.

"Have you slept with her?" he hissed with sudden fierceness that made his friend flinch.

"Henry…"

_"Have you?!?"_

"No!" Charles expression was somewhere between barely restrained anger and complete lack of understanding. "We might have spoken briefly, that is all. What the hell is with that woman that you're totally beside yourself?"

Henry only stared at him, trying to pull himself together. A quick glance to his left and right revealed that a few bystanders were already glancing at them curiously, still, Anne was nowhere in sight any more.

Forcing his voice to calm down a little, Henry leaned towards Charles, muttering in a much lower tone, "I think I'll leave now and retreat to my chambers. You follow me in ten minutes, and don't you dare to be late."

Charles only nodded and without a glance back, Henry headed for the entrance, leaving the hall with long strides, feeling jealous, frustrated and aroused at the same time. He didn't even know if Charles, the Lady Anne, his sister or he himself were to blame for this sudden testiness. As for that problem, he was quite convinced that an hour with his favourite duke and bed mate would be enough to ease his shaken temper and the tension in his body.

If only he could forget of those pale blue eyes for the time, those eyes that seemed to have promised him something more, something deeper than even a king had ever possessed.

* * *

The days passed and the nearer the date of their departure to Portugal came, the less Charles was looking forward to it. It was not the prospect of the long journey or travelling with the Princess, though she still kept acting as if he didn't exist at all. However, he knew that Margaret's anger was due to the fact that Henry wanted her to marry a man much older than her and she just wreaked it on everyone having to do with the journey. Probably she'd try to be a real pain in the neck on the ship, but Charles had always been long-suffering when it came to women and was even looking forward to some verbal sparring with the strong-minded Princess.

However, what he didn't like at all was the time he'd be away from court – away from Henry, to be accurate. Henry, who was right now coming to the dance floor with Margaret after having talked with his new ally, the Emperor, for some time. They had barely seen each other in the previous days due to the high visitor, and their departure would be only a few days later, so there would not be much time either.

Charles sighed softly, a sound that didn't entirely fit the beautiful summer afternoon and the cheerful dancing music. Henry had promised him that after his return, they'd travel together to Westhorpe Hall, his new estate in the Suffolk countryside he hadn't even seen up to now. Furthermore, his friend had announced to fully recompense him for his troubles, which probably meant that Charles wouldn't see more of Suffolk than the bedchamber of Westhorpe Hall. He didn't particularly mind that fact, still, there was a lot of time before he'd return to court and his friend's mind was easily changeable. Surely he'd take a mistress in Charles absence and even though his friend could not even blame him for this, the mere thought made him feel rather uncomfortable.

His eyes fell on Queen Katherine who was promenading along with the Emperor, her nephew, and seemed to be the only one looking as sorrowful as he felt. Briefly, he wondered if they both shared the same sorrow, but suppressed the thought the same moment since it made him feel guilty and even more miserable.

"Not drinking today, Charles?" Anthony's voice startled him out of his thoughts. "Or should I say, Your Grace?!" his friend added teasingly.

"You should definitely call him by his real name which is cunt, or villain," William added, with a clearly audible stinger in his words.

"Why?"

Henry had left the dance floor and was chatting with the Lady Anne now, who looked really pretty in her blue dress and the pearl net covering her open raven hair, as Charles had to admit. He had noticed she was back at court some days ago, however, according to his stunned reaction, the king had not up to now.

"We're supposed to be friends, Charles," Anthony said firmly and the addressed raised his eyebrows, looking at companions in disbelief.

"Aren't we, still?"

"Not if you don't show us favour," William explained with more seriousness. "It's within your gift to ask His Majesty to give us some titles, or at least some land."

"Seems everything the king has to give he's given to you already!" Anthony complained.

_If you knew… _Feeling disappointed, angry and a strangely proud at the same time, Charles raised his head just a little. 

"Jealous?"

"Naturally. As you rise, so too should we," William stated.

"So what can we do for you, Your Grace?" Anthony added mockingly but was met with a cool, arrogant gaze from the named.

"Show me some respect!"

His words hit home, Anthony swallowed hard and finally averted his eyes first and William suddenly seemed to be rather interested in the dancers as well. Charles couldn't suppress a feeling of triumph and when he searched for Henry again, he saw that the king had already returned to his place at the royal table, raising his glass in his direction when he saw that Charles was watching him. The duke returned the smile, however, he suddenly understood what Henry meant when he had said that it was lonely at the top.

* * *

_His footsteps strangely reverberated in the empty, candle-lit halls and corridors he was striving through, searching for something he couldn't even remember. But then, as he came around another corner, he saw her._

_She was standing in the middle of the throne hall, wearing a curve-kissing yellow dress, the raven hair flowing openly. As she noticed him, she raised her head slightly, a challenging look in her pale eyes before she turned and ran away. He followed her with long steps, through the hall and around one of the huge stone pillars. Teasingly she stopped for a moment, catching his gaze, but then vanished behind the pillar again. He tried to catch up with her, but when he had rounded the pillar, she was already heading for the next chamber and he chased her without another thought but the burning desire to close his arms around her slender figure and never let go of her again. _

_And finally, there she was, alluringly resting on a stool, invitingly leaning back and he lunged at her, almost falling to his knees, his hands already trying to pull up her skirt._

_"Anne…"_

_But she gently but determined pushed him away by the shoulders. "No. Not like this."_

_"How?"_

_"Seduce me," she whispered and suddenly her voice came from behind his back, and when he turned, she stood there, temptingly opening her arms. "Write letters to me. And poems. I love poems. Ravish me with your words. Seduce me."_

_The last words were barely audible as she closed the wings of the door she was standing in in front of his face. His breath was coming heavily as he headed for the door, hesitating for a moment, his hands resting on the doorknobs, but then he opened the door with a jerk._

_Bare skin and inviting curves were deliciously lighted by the candles and she looked up in utter surprise as he entered, insufficiently covering her nakedness with her hands. And although the gesture had something irresistibly vulnerable, there was no fear in her gaze, only astonishment and maybe, deep down in her eyes, the hint of a challenge. _

He woke up with a loud gasp, sitting in his bed vertically at once, for some instants struggling to find out where he was, when he heard an alarmed voice calling his name.

"Henry? What the hell is going on?"

"It's alright," Henry whispered in the darkness, without even knowing whom he was addressing with his word. "She's gone…"

"She? Who are you talking about?"

Henry slowly turned his head to look at the bleary as well as confused face of his bedfellow, who just propped himself up to one elbow. "Did you have a bad dream?"

"Yes. No," Henry said absent-mindedly, slowly finding back to the reality of his sleeping chamber. Still, the image of the seductive naked figure of the young woman lit by the candles didn't want to leave his mind. "Not exactly a bad dream…"

"I see," Charles said tellingly, gently reaching out to touch his hip. "You made some kind of a mess here, Majesty. My, and you'd think I should have worn you out…"

Henry growled and instinctively slapped away Charles' hand, feeling somewhat embarrassed that his lover had discovered the treacherous marks his dream had left before he did. At the same time, he was wondering about that fierce reaction of his body which in fact should be spent and satisfied after the previous night.

Charles laughed gently, obviously rather amused about the situation, sinking back into the pillows. "So what was your dream about? A girl, you say?"

There was no point in denying it, though Henry couldn't suppress a feeling of discomfort at Charles' question.

"The Lady Anne Boleyn," he answered and, adding it like an apology, "I just can't get her out of my head lately." And now, having her seen naked in his dream, it would be even harder, he added silently.

"Yes, I've noticed."

Henry didn't have to look at his friend to realize that Charles' amusement had vanished, being replaced by a much more reserved tone that irritated him, even though he didn't know why.

"You know what? I was thinking of making her my mistress while you're away," he said into the gloominess of the chamber, more out of an impulse than true consideration. Actually, he hadn't thought about it up to now, yet the thought was appealing as he spoke it out loud. As Charles didn't reply to this, he looked at him again. "What do you think?"

His friend shrugged, staring at the ceiling with his head bedded onto his crossed arms. "Fine." As Henry only raised his eyebrows and waited, a hint of anger crept into his face. "You don't really want my opinion on this, so why are you asking?"

"My, I didn't even know you could be that touchy," Henry teased him, tracing the line of his jaw with one finger. "One could think you were actually jealous."

The answer surprised him, since it was surely none he had expected. "What if I am?"

"Then you're a complete idiot," Henry shook his head in utter disbelief, "because she has nothing to do with you." As Charles only stared at him, Henry snorted with laughter, though there was no trace of humour in the sound. "I can't believe I have to explain myself to you on that matter. Who do you think you are, Charles? My wife? My mistress?"

"I did never demand that you explain anything," Charles said calmly, yet Henry's temper was flared already.

"Then would you please explain to me why you're suddenly in a huff?"

Charles sighed and then he also sat up in bed. "Let me put it this way, Henry. When you consider taking another woman to your bed, I'm naturally wondering what it is that's wrong with me, don't you understand?"

"Charles, there's only one thing that's wrong with you and that one is pretty obvious. You're a man and I am a man. Since I also happen to be king of this country, I have duties to fulfil, like taking a Queen and producing a male heir and for both issues you are not really suitable."

Charles only shook his head. "Even the Lady Anne can only give you more illegitimate children, and since you stopped visiting Katherine's bedchamber…"

"Careful," Henry growled dangerously low, "you just go a little step too far, Your Grace."

"Forgive me, Majesty," Charles answered coolly. "Still, I wonder if you'd speak the same if it was me who wanted another woman in my bed."

"And what is stopping you?" Henry asked with a disbelieving laugh. "I do not expect you to devote yourself only to me, but neither will I." And when his friend still only looked at him, he added with an irritated sigh, "You know that I love you as my friend and that I like you in my bed, but this would take things between us a little too far, don't you think? For Christ's sake, now I almost tend to think it is a good thing that you're away from court for a while."

"If you think so, Majesty…"

Henry gritted his teeth and had to suppress the sudden urge to grab Charles' shoulders and shake him, until he lost that damn aloof look on his face. Instead, he only nodded coolly.

"I think you may leave me now, Your Grace. You're just straining my nerves tonight."

With these words, he lay down again, turning around so that he didn't have to see the expression on Charles' face. For a moment there was no sound at all, then a slow movement on the mattress and the rustling of clothes, soft steps on the floor.

"Your Majesty."

The door fell shut and he was alone, finally. Henry screwed up his eyes and tried to recall the alluring images of his dream. But whenever Anne appeared before his inner eye, Charles was standing next to her, looking at him reproachfully.

_There were places we would go at midnight  
There were secrets that nobody else would know  
There's a reason but I don't know why  
I don't know why  
I thought they all belonged to me_

_Who's that girl, where's she from?  
No, she can't be the one_

_That you want, that has stolen my world  
It's not real, it's not right  
It's my day, it's my night  
By the way – who's that girl  
Living my life?_

_~Hillary Duff, Who's That Girl ~_


	6. VI For the Love of a Princess

**Title:** Fortune's Favours  
**Pairing:** Charles Brandon / Henry Tudor  
**Rating:** M  
**Story Summary: ** The story follows the storyline of the show, except for the fact that the King and his favorite Duke get a little closer in its course than in the original, making everything even more complicated. ;-)  
**Disclaimer:** The Tudors belong to Showtime, I have absolutely no claim on the characters, the storyline etc.

**A/N:** I know the Tudors are in many points not exactly what you'd call historically accurate, still, in this fanfiction I decided to go with the Showtime version to avoid confusions.  
First of course the obligatory thanks to my beta reader **narya86** for correcting and being an inspiration and second thanks to all people who read & reviewed!

**Chapter Summary:** While Henry struggles with political and personal matters, Charles sails to Portugal with Princess Margaret and one thing leads to another...  
**Chapter Warnings:** Actually none, or do I have to put a warning here because of het sex? *g*

_**VI **_

_**For the Love of a Princess**_

"This is your stateroom. I hope it meets with Your Highness's approval..."

"It'll serve." Margaret replied, with all the weight of royal condescension put in these two words while she examined the small cabin that had been arranged as luxurious as possible.

"The bed is narrow but adequate" Charles continued, staying politely in the background, "and in the case of action, all this panelling will be removed."

These words finally made her turn around, first eying the wooden panelling that separated her sleeping chamber from Charles' own. Then she looked at him, her slender eyebrows raised. "Action?"

"If we are attacked," he answered, managing to hide a smile.

"Who will attack us?"

"Pirates?" he suggested.

"It seems to me, Your Grace" she replied, approaching him with her chin lifted challengingly, "we have more to fear from the pirates already on board!"

Charles just couldn't manage to maintain a serious face when she looked at him like this; her arrogant look so much resembling her brother's when he was trying to hide some weakness or sorrow. So he just bowed to her, his lips curved into an amused smile, before he finally left the room to give her the privacy to ensconce herself.

A fresh breeze was blowing when he entered the ship's deck, tasting of salt and the width of the sea. Sailors were hurrying over deck, carrying the last chests on board and making preparations for leaving.

"Your Grace?" The captain, a sturdy man called Francis Hetchford, walked over to him. "We're ready to set sails, with your consent."

Charles nodded hesitatingly, glancing first at the rough English coastline and then at the grey morning sky. "Will the weather keep up, Master Hetchford?"

"Well, for me it doesn't look like rain, it might even brighten up later. But we just have a fine breeze I wouldn't like to miss."

"All right then," Charles answered, still looking at the coast which made Hetchford smile but a little.

"My, I know that look. Seems Your Grace is reluctant to leave someone behind, am I right?"

Charles looked at the older man, feeling a little found out, but then he returned the smile. "Aren't we always?"

"True. But don't you worry, Your Grace, she'll wait for wait for you until you return. Fortunately for us, the ladies are much more patient than we are." And with a friendly pat on the shoulder, Hetchford walked off, shouting commands to loosen the ropes and set sails.

Placing his hands on the railing, Charles still looked at the coast when the gnawing feeling of unease returned he had tried to suppress for the previous two days. He knew that it resulted from the fact that Henry and he hadn't spoken in private after their argument shortly before his departure. But he had seen his King just once more afterwards, namely the following morning in the chapel, when he had wished them luck and a good journey.

_Charles, as you love me, take care of her…_

It had almost sounded like an apology, as well as his warm embrace, however, Charles was convinced that it would basically change nothing. And he still was unable to ban his anger at the thought that Henry would go after that Boleyn girl while he was away from court and could do absolutely nothing against it. Not that he could have if he were at court, actually. Henry had made himself pretty clear about his view on their relationship and Charles just had to put up with it, no matter what he felt. And he even might have accepted the fact that the King saw him only as a friend and occasional bedfellow if not for the fact that he felt Henry was deluding himself.

The coastline slowly became smaller as the wind blew into the sails, slowly drifting them away from England. Charles sighed, watching the coast until it became too blurry and small, wishing that he would indeed be able to return soon.

* * *

_Your Gracious Majesty._

_It causes me such pain and grief to return the gifts you gave. Alas, they are too beautiful and I unworthy to receive them... I think I never gave Your Majesty cause to give them to me, since I am nothing and you are everything. Give them, I pray you, to a lady more deserving of Your Majesty's affections. I am leaving now for my family's house at Hever. I shall think of you on the journey there._

_Your loving servant,_

_Anne Boleyn_

Henry couldn't remember how often he had read the lines, neatly written down with blue ink on parchment. And as every time when he read them he shortly played with the thought of throwing the short letter into the fire, yet as every time, he refrained from doing so. He still couldn't believe that she had refused his advances and his gift and in such a modest way that he couldn't even blame her for this. No woman had ever dared to do so and even though her answer angered him a little, it also made him long for her even more than before. His answering letter to hers was already on its way to the seat of the Boleyn family at Hever, yet it would take some time until he received her answer. Time he could spent with nothing but sit around and wait, something he had always detested since it made him all edgy and huffy. It wasn't actually how he'd visualized things and to make everything even worse, even Charles was now away from court and couldn't be expected back in the next weeks. Henry already regretted sending him to Portugal since his duke had surely helped him to shorten the time in some way or other.

A short knock on the door startled him out of his thoughts and William Compton entered, with the hints of a smile playing around the corners of his mouth.

"Majesty… Princess Marguerite of Navarre."

Henry only nodded and his dark thoughts quickly vanished into thin air when William made way for the dark-eyed beauty who smiled at him invitingly, sinking down into a deep curtsey.

"_Majesté…"_

"Madame. I am delighted." His gaze travelled unabashedly from her eyes down to the neck line of her dress which for English fashion revealed exceptionally much, giving a hint of the beautiful curved breasts beneath the white fabric. Even under normal circumstances Marguerite would have caught Henry's eye, but the fact that she was also King Francis' sister made her irresistible for him.

"So, do you feel well at my court, Madame? Do you have everything you needed?" he continued playing the concerned host while devouring her with his eyes. Slowly he approached her, placing one hand lightly on her shoulder.

"_Ça__ dépend__,_" she answered with a seductive little smile. "What else do you have to offer, _majesté_?"

The invitation was unmistakable and so he didn't bother to waste further time with talking, but showed her what the King of England had to offer.

Her skin felt as smooth and soft under his hands as he had imagined and her curvaceous, lithe body was so light and willing in his arms. He was met with no resistance when he came at her with barely restrained hunger, running his hands and tongue all over her body. And, moaning his name, she eagerly opened her legs for him at just one light touch of his hand so that he could finally find release for his stored-up tension.

But that was it. Her body and her looks were tempting, without doubt, and she seemed to enjoy his passionate longing for her according to her excessive moans and outcries. Yet during the entire lovemaking, she remained rather passive, letting him play with her body and satisfy his lust but never letting herself really fall. There was no resistance that eventually was overpowered by pure lechery, no challenge to win, nothing to claim that wasn't willingly handed to him on a silver platter. And when he had finally found release in her and rolled on his back, gasping for breath; he slowly realized that with his physical tension also his interest in her had vanished entirely.

_See, that's what I told you. This is the problem with women which are too beautiful and know it damn well... they just don't know how to please a man in bed! I told you, most famous beauties are boring bitches, who..._

"Shut it, Charles," Henry muttered without even noticing.

"Henri?" Marguerite asked with that bloody seductive French accent he had found alluring before and which was only straining his nerves now. "Everything all right, _mon chéri_?"

"Yes. Yes, of course." He smiled politely and planted a light kiss on her lips. "You've just worn me out, that's all."

"Shall I then retreat to let you rest, _majesté_?" When he nodded, she sat up and reached for her undergarment, slowly getting dressed again, from time to time giving him a little smile. He watched her, exhaustion from their lovemaking fading and giving way to an unpleasant aftertaste. He idly wondered what the hell was wrong with that woman that had all of a sudden displeased him that much. It felt unsatisfying to just let her go, yet he also didn't want to keep her here since he had no idea what else to say or do with her right now.

"_Majesté_?" He couldn't tell from her looks if she had noticed his mood swing, but he did not actually care about it anyway. "Thank you for your... compensation, it was really enjoyable."

"Always at your service, Madame," he lied without thinking about it. She smiled again, giving him a last secretive look out of those big doe eyes and left his chambers.

Henry sighed in frustration, stretching himself out in the huge bed that felt far too big for him alone, involuntarily sniffing as the smell of her sweet perfume reached his nose. And all of a sudden he realized that there had been nothing wrong with her, that she had been like many other women he had bedded, women who had been so overwhelmed and proud to be with the King of England that they did everything he wanted them to without hesitating. Women like Mary Boleyn or Bessie Blount he sooner or later had always grown tired of. Probably this was the reason why he wanted Anne so much, since she had shunned him and refused to be easy prey like all the others had been. Yet it was not the thought of Anne Boleyn that came to his mind right now but the wish that the sweet scent of Marguerite's perfume should give way to the aromatic, musky scent of the familiar mixture of sweat and oil and spent lust. That he could rest his head at a brawny chest, exchanging some lazy caresses and banter, as long as they'd either grow too tired and fall asleep or their lust arose once more and they'd start all over again. Instead, he was lying here alone in the dark, pitying himself and feeling all miserable.

"Fuck you, Charles," he muttered at the ceiling, however, the fact that he knew damn well that he alone was to blame for his sulkiness didn't help to improve it at all.

* * *

She hated to be proved wrong and therefore had always stubbornly stuck to a decision or opinion once she'd made it. However, with every passing day, Princess Margaret Tudor had to admit unwillingly that she might have underestimated the Duke of Suffolk.

Of course she had known her brother's friends since they were youths, but not too well, for she as a Princess had never been allowed to hang around with them. In her eyes, they were a bunch of loud and ignorant boys who had nothing in their heads but women, sports and all kinds of mischief, who drank too much and refused to grow up – though Margaret secretly had to admit that her bad opinion about them mostly resulted from the fact that she had always envied them. Charles Brandon did not differ much from the rest, except for the fact that he was even worse. Notorious for his dashing beauty as well as turning all the ladies heads, that smug idiot had always loved to tease her, though he had never tried anything serious. Probably he had known that Henry would have ripped his head off, if he had been stupid enough to do so, but right now, Henry was miles away in England and Charles and she together on a small boat. So when they departed she had expected that she'd have to fend off some advances from the newly invested duke during their journey, but they never came. Most of the time, he did not attend to her at all, instead he mostly spent his time playing cards and bantering with the crew and sometimes Margaret saw him standing at the railing, watching the sea pensively while the wind played with his dark curls. His behaviour had first surprised her and then it made her angry. Was she really that uninteresting that he didn't even bother to try, only fitting for an old, gout-ridden man?

So she had started to keep a closer eye on him, which was easy, since she had soon discovered that she could watch his cabin through the gaps in the wooden panelling. And maybe she had observed him a little too long while trying to distract herself from every though about the destination and purpose of their journey, or maybe it was her anger that he didn't bother about her at all or the fact that he was the only thread connecting her to England and her former life that she desperately missed already. Maybe it was only his looks, since he was indeed the most handsome man that had ever caught her sight while she was going to spent God knew how many years with a doter. But most probably, it was a mixture of everything that made her call him to her stateroom one evening after supper. Outside, a storm was raging, occasionally bathing the dim-lit cabin in harsh flashlight for an instant, followed by thunder roaring. From somewhere the soft sounds of a harmonica could be heard, probably played by one of the crew members.

"You wanted to see me, Your Highness?"

He leaned at the door nonchalantly, all dressed in brown leather adorned with golden knobs and being as damn good-looking as he was obviously uninterested.

"Only to ask how much longer we must be at sea," she answered without even looking up pretending to be interested in nothing but the game of solitaire on the table.

"With a fair wind, two more days."

Though her question had only been an excuse to call for him, the answer still horrified her. Only two days until she'd be buried alive in a strange land with a language she didn't even speak and a man who could have been her grandfather... Still, she managed to hide her shock, instead collecting her game and reshuffling the cards.

"Do you play cards, Your Grace?"

"Sometimes... Your Highness." A little smile played around Charles' lips, though she had the feeling that he was a little surprised.

_Excellent. _

"What game shall we play?"

His smile broadened as he came closer, taking a seat as another flash lightened the cabin. "You choose."

"French ruff," Margaret decided, beginning to deal the cards. The light from the small oil lamps was flickering due to the pitching and tossing of the ship crossing the stormy sea outside. Now his grey eyes never left hers, and she wondered if he already knew what she had in mind. There was some sort of tension between them, it was undeniable, but on the other hand, wasn't there always tension when Charles was involved?

"You pick trumps," she said, passing him the remaining deck and he drew the upper card, which was the king of hearts. "Kings."

"How appropriate, Your Highness," Charles commented with a telling grin but Margaret chose to ignore it and played her first card.

"Wine?"

"If you please."

Something about her question seemed to amuse him, she could tell by the look in his eyes, though she had no idea what it was. Lady Katherine hurried to bring the flagon and pour another cup for the Duke as they started playing, one card after the other, three clubs, eight hearts, eight clubs...

"Your Highness must be looking forward with great anticipation to your wedding," Charles remarked in a conversational tone, though barely able to hide a treacherous smirk. "I heard the king was a great horseman... in his time. And famous for his beautiful mistresses."

"Don't tease me, I don't like it," Margaret replied snippily, still Charles obviously intended to keep at her most hated topic.

"Will you like it when an old man tries to make love to you?"

"Your Grace goes too far. Already."

"Gospel says, the truth will make you free," he gave back quick-wittedly.

"Now you are blasphemous," she stated, deciding that it had been enough bantering now. "My poor ladies should not hear you!"

Her three ladies in waiting, who pretended to be busy with stitching but naturally had been pricking their ears curiously stood up and left the room with some curtseys. Margaret knew they were disappointed; however, there was no need for any witnesses right now. To make sure they were actually away and not eavesdropping, she followed them to the door, carefully closing it behind the last one. But then she hesitated for a moment, afraid of her own courage. What the hell was she doing here, was she really that desperate? She was royalty after all, a Princess, the sister of the King of England and soon to be the Queen of Portugal. But thinking about Portugal and her designed fate made her admit that she probably was very desperate after all.

Charles hadn't moved, hadn't even turned around when she had headed for the door. Now she returned, planting herself in front of him with all of her royal authority, hoping that she wouldn't lose balance right now due to a heavy wave.

"I want you to leave."

"Do you?" he asked mockingly, making no attempts to follow her order.

For Christ's sake, they were alone after all, why was he still sitting at that table and made no attempts to be all over her? But she had already gone too far to draw back right now, and so she leaned down to him, whispering seductively in his ear: "Yes. Now."

Finally, he turned his head, their faces only inches apart, the tension between them almost tangible.

"Pity" Charles said slowly, "I had a winning hand."

His voice, which was a little lower than before and full of unspoken promises, made her lose the rest of her aloofness as well and she leaned in to kiss him, a gentle question waiting for an answer. And for the split of a second Charles seemed to hesitate or maybe it was just surprise, before he eventually replied the kiss, more tenderly and caressingly than she had thought he was capable of. And she had to admit that this man really knew how to kiss, playfully sucking at her lower lip, his tongue nudging just at little against hers, teasing, but not giving away too much. It almost made her knees buckle and, to steady herself, she grabbed his shoulders, their kiss becoming more fervent as her lips greedily demanded more from him. But suddenly, strong hands closed around her arms, softly pushing her away just a little.

"Your Highness... Margaret. You know your brother would not like this at all, don't you?"

Margaret stared at Charles in utter, impatient disbelief, caught between arousal and quickly rising anger.

"Damn you, Charles Brandon! Did he ask one of us if we like to go on this journey? As for me, he didn't ask, so I don't give a damn of what he would like or what he wouldn't like. Besides, he's miles away in his palace at Westminster, probably bedding one of his countless mistresses, so why shouldn't I at least..."

She didn't get any further since in that moment his mouth claimed hers, in a fierce, passionate kiss that just took her breath away. Her knees turned to jelly but he had already wrapped one of his arms around her hip, the other one digging into her hair. Margaret bit into his lower lip, but he only growled, pushing her backwards without ever breaking the kiss and finally lifting her up to one of cabinets at the cabin's side. Another flash lightened the stateroom in a bright, unnatural light and for an instant their eyes met, Charles' grey ones as stormy and fervent as the troubled sea outside. And then he bent down his head again, greedily kissing and biting her neck and shoulders, while at the same time his hands slid under her skirt, turning up the silken pink fabric. Margaret's head fell back and a load moan was drawn from her lips that went unheard because of the crashing thunderclap in this moment. And then for some sweet, precious moment he made her forget about everything that wasn't him, his mouth and hands all over her skin, his length inside of her, taking her to heights she had never known before. A single through crossed her mind, sending a fleeting sense of defiance and triumph down her body.

_You may be the __king, but this one's mine, dearest brother..._

But that moment, Charles grabbed her hips forcefully, pulling her even nearer and Margaret cried out, all her rational thinking finally, finally yielding to overwhelming lust.

* * *

Slowly, the darkness on the horizon faded to a lighter grey, announcing the upcoming morning over the still sleeping town of Lisbon. The ships in the port were gently rocking on the small waves, some sporadic creaking of the rigging and the sound of the waves licking at the ship sides being the only sounds at this peaceful hour. And so Charles was immediately ripped out of his thoughts when he heard someone approaching with heavy steps.

"Good morning, Master Hetchford!"

The captain flinched a little before he recognized Charles, who was sitting on a box, his back resting comfortably against the cabin wall.

"Sweet Jesus, Your Grace, you've made me jump all right. I didn't expect you'd be up before noon after the wedding celebrations at court..."

"Actually, I haven't been sleeping at all" Charles admitted with a small smile, holding up a flagon of wine. "Want a swig? It's port."

Hetchford shook his head and grimaced. "I had enough of that hellish stuff the last days, thank you. It gives a terrible headache."

"Well, I guess I'll just have to put up with that", Charles muttered, taking another swig, hoping that this one would finally make the image before his eyes vanish, the anxious, almost pleading look from Margaret's eyes when she had eventually left the celebrations with her newly wedded husband at the cheering of the crowd.

"You don't like to leave her here, Your Grace, do you?" Hetchford asked out of the blue, sitting beside him. Charles didn't mind, since the captain was a pleasant fellow and they'd become friends during the journey. Yet the question came that unexpected, that Charles only stared at him, before he slowly answered: "No. She deserves better than to be married with a man thrice her age."

"You mean she rather deserves a man like you." It was not a question but a statement.

"Like me?" Charles laughed shortly, but it was a sound without the faintest trace of humour. "No, not like me. I'm a coward."

"You were only doing what your king told you to," the captain replied and Charles had almost laughed out loud. "And that's why I'm a coward, Master Hetchford, for if I wasn't, I wouldn't care about it right now."

Still, he had told Margaret the exact same thing when he had led her to the altar last morning, felt her hand on his hand, ice cold and trembling slightly.

_What are you doing?_

_What the King ordered._

It had been a shameless lie, of course. He had already broken the promises he had given his King when he had laid her almost constantly the last two days of their journey. And she had desperately clung to him, maybe hoping that a miracle would happen, that Charles would turn out to be the shining knight that saved the princess in the last moment from the claws of the old Portuguese dragon. But he didn't and he had never intended to, since he had been only thinking about how to score Henry off, taking spiteful delight in picturing his friend's and lover's face if he'd ever found out what Charles had been doing.

"Do you love her?"

"She told me so," Charles said with a small laughter, taking another swig from the port flagon and Hetchford slowly shook his head.

"Oh, she'll know. Women are always better at these things than we are."

Charles nodded hesitatingly, though his first thought had been that she was terribly deluding herself. However, the longer he thought about it, the more he was convinced that there was truth in her words. And how could he not love her, when there were so many little things she resembled her brother in, from the cool bluish green eyes, over her arrogance and quick-wittedness to a lot of small gestures and looks.

"Alas, there's no use crying over spilt milk, Your Grace. There's no way you could make her marriage undone and probably it's better that way."

"Of course it is", Charles agreed. Not to think what Henry would've said if he had somehow interfered, let alone of the political consequences he'd conjured up. The way it was, things might gnaw at his conscience but at least he could return to court pretending he had done everything according to his King's orders. With a sigh, he got up on his feet, taking a last swig out of the bottle. "Well, captain, I think I'll try to snatch a few hours of sleep in my cabin before I go and bid farewell to the court. And I'd prefer if we might set sails immediately afterwards to prevent me from doing anything I'd deeply regret. So will you wake me, say, at ten?"

"Certainly, Your Grace" Hetchford replied with a worried glance but Charles had already turned around, heading for his old cabin while outside the sky already brightened visibly and the seagulls began to shriek, greeting the new day. The last days he had slept in a comfortable broad bed in the palace, but right now, he preferred the narrow one on the ship just for the fact that it held the better memories.

He thought he wouldn't be able to sleep with all the thoughts revolving in his head, but the port, the lavish celebration and a sleepless night did its bit so that he almost immediately passed out the very moment his head met the cushion.

He woke up when somebody knocked at the door fervently. "Your Grace! Your Grace, wake up!"

"Slow it down, will you?" Charles yawned, already feeling the headache Hetchford had warned him about. Sluggishly, he blinked into the bright sunlight before he finally got up and opened the door, feeling worn out and tired. He wanted to do a stupid joke or something but he didn't, when he looked into the worried face of one of the crew members.

"All right, what is it?"

"Your Grace, a messenger from the court has just arrived," the man reported hastily. "The Queen sends for you. It seems the King is dead, he passed away just this morning."

Charles' face fell, but he managed to keep up the facade, nodding and declaring that he just wanted to redress before he'd come to court immediately. After the man left, he took a deep sigh, absent-mindedly rubbing his aching temples.

_It's strange. Some men who seem at the peak of health, who still are young and full of life suddenly collapse and die. By that same counter, some old men, whose bodies look worn out, whose race seems run... they can go on for years. Don't you think it's strange?_

Could it really be coincidence that the King had just died the morning after he said this words to her, the morning which happened to be the one of his departure as well? But she couldn't... she wouldn't... no, it had to be an accident.

But accident or not, Charles just felt that the trouble he thought he'd evaded had just caught up with him again.

* * *

Things came so thick and fast that Henry thought it couldn't possibly get any worse.

After almost having died in that stupid accident with the staff and the pool all of his plans somehow seemed to go awry, beginning with the Emperor who should have been his trusted ally against the French, but suddenly seemed to be best friends with King Francis. His ally with Portugal was all null and void since King Luis had died the morning after he had married his sister. Anne Boleyn kept him in a mix of emotions, on the one hand still denying him and refusing to become his mistress, on the other hand writing affectionate letters and even sending him a portrait of her. His current wife, Katherine, was making a bigger deal out of their divorce than he hoped she would and on top of that Cardinal Wolsey had been very reserved about his progress to convince the clergy that Henry's matter was rightful. So after all, it had been some terrible weeks with the only bright spots being the occasional letters from Anne and the prospect of Charles' return from Portugal. He couldn't wait for his friend to cheer him up and distract him from all the daily hassles which were troubling him. The fact that he had promised to show him his Suffolk estates in person was just a nice excuse to flee the exhausting life and his responsibilities at court for a while and spent some enjoyable - and of course carnally satisfying – time together away from all curious eyes. And so, though he regretted the failure of his alliance with Portugal, Henry had been glad when the messenger told him that Charles and Margaret had reached Dover and were returning to London soon. During the last days he had sometimes begun to wonder fleetingly what took them so long, but he had never dreamt that the worst of all disasters was yet to come.

There was a dead silence in the Presence Chamber when Sir William Compton told him as matter-of-factly as it was possible what had happened, a few sentences that were just enough to crush Henry's view of the world entirely. Or at least it felt so when he stared at his friend, for the first moment almost incapable to understand because it was just so damn wrong and impossible what his words were implying.

"Is he sorry?" Henry finally asked after the initial shock allowed him to speak again and the calmness of his voice surprised even himself. "Does he repent it?"

It must have been some kind of mistake, some stupid folly Charles did on a whim without thinking about it. William's lowered gaze and his hesitation already told him different, but he still repeated his question, sharper this time. "Tell me, does he beg my forgiveness?"

"Your Majesty knows His Grace," William answered evasively.

"You mean he does not." It was more a statement than a real question and William didn't answer to it, probably not to bring Charles into deeper trouble than he already was. But his silence was answer enough and Henry took a deep breath, feeling like his chest had suddenly tightened as realization slowly sank in that the one man he had always held most dearly and above all others had shamelessly betrayed him.

The question of why became prominent in his thoughts and there was a simple way to get an answer to that, namely calling in his duke who was waiting in the anteroom and asking him what the fuck he had been thinking. However, Henry hesitated to do just that, mainly because he didn't know whether he could stand the answer, be it callousness, vengefulness or just indifference, or if he'd just start to cry when he'd face Charles right now.

The thought of the man he'd counted as his most loyal and trusted friend slowly let cold wrath streaming in, replacing the feeling of hurt and shock. Henry welcomed it thankfully, for everything was better than this aching pain in his chest, and finally made a decision.

"Send in my sister."

William waited for another second, then bowed deeply, obviously feeling relieved to get out of his King's sight without having to deal with a complete outburst. But Henry didn't want to waste his wrath on the messenger. Not as long as there were more suitable persons at hand who obviously were spineless enough to send someone else ahead to soften Henry's temper. Well, he'd teach them how terribly they'd been wrong.

It took only a few moments until light steps announced the presence of his sister. She was wearing a ruby coloured gown with golden embroideries and wide sleeves slit almost all the way up to the small puffs on her shoulders. Her long brown hair was only held back by a pearl lace and she looked all beautiful and full of royal dignity when she bowed her head and curtsied deeply in front of her brother. No hint of guilt or repentance, nothing.

"You are not wearing black," Henry said calmly without bothering to welcome her back.

"No, Your Majesty," Margaret answered in the same tone, rising up and meeting his gaze even though Henry didn't give her permission to do so. Her refusal to pay any more than the most essential courtly gestures of respect had always amused him and he'd always tolerated it because of his love for his self-confident sister whose stubbornness so much resembled his own but right now, it utterly annoyed him.

"But you are in mourning," he nevertheless continued with the facade. "Your husband is dead." And as she didn't answer to that but at least had the decency to look away and concerned for a moment, he added in a much sharper tone: "I said your husband is dead!"

"He's alive," she replied instantly, raising her head. "My husband is alive."

The defiance flaring up in her eyes eventually made his worn out temper snap and he rose from his chair, glaring at her. "I gave you no permission to marry Brandon. Nor would I ever!"

"You gave me your promise! I was free to choose," she held against him accusingly.

"I made no promise! You are mistaken!" Henry spat, trembling with rage and when Margaret still opened her mouth to object, he yelled at her, no longer bothering to restrain himself.

"How dare you look at me?! I am your lord and master, not your brother!"

She looked shocked and nervous about his fierce reaction, still, defiance and determination did not leave her eyes and Henry could almost hear what she was thinking. _Unreasonable, he's just totally out of his mind right now…_

The urge to slap her pretty face was overwhelming, however, Henry forced himself back to the rests of his composure. She was insufferably proud and impertinent, but she was hardly the one mainly in charge for this tremendousness. And if he totally cracked and hit her, he'd just have to admit to himself how much they both had hurt him.

"You are both banished from court," he therefore continued, calm but merciless. "You will relinquish your London houses. You will remove yourselves from my sight. Do you understand?"

"Yes... Your Majesty." It was only a whisper and Henry knew he had finally managed to hit the mark. It filled him with a strange, nasty feeling of satisfaction. She swallowed hard, curtsied again and then left for the door but he called her back just as she was about to leave.

"And Margaret?!"

"What?" she hissed, turning around fiercely.

"I have yet to decide whether to make your bed mate a head shorter," Henry added cruelly. She only stared at him for another moment, then turned and left the room. He followed her with his gaze for a few seconds longer until he couldn't see her anymore, before he turned around without another word, storming out of the Presence Chamber into his study, slamming the door behind himself as hard as he could. The first thing that came between his fingers, a flagon of wine, crashed and shattered at the floor with a sound as satisfying as his own, angry roar.

The wine was spilled on the floor like a pool of crimson blood and it instantly a memory flashed up in Henry's mind, Charles and his first night together, blind passion and also much spilled wine, one the floor, on the carpet... He normally enjoyed the memory and had often recalled it in the last weeks, but right now, it made him sick.

With a soft, chocked sound Henry slumped to his knees, his body shaking from pain or anger, he didn't know. He also didn't bother for the shards of the flagon covering the floor, or for the blood-red wine soaking his pantaloons. Hot tears were burning in his eyes, but hell, he was the fucking King of England, he wouldn't cry over that worthless son of a bitch. He wouldn't.

"Alas, Your Grace, let's see how well you do without me," he whispered slowly, eyes still trained on the shards on the floor, "for I am not going to forgive you as long as you breathe…"

_Shut the door, take a look around and tell me what you find.  
Shut the door, take a giant step for you and all mankind.  
Then don't come back  
I always gave you so much more than you deserve  
No, don't come back, 'cause no one makes a fool of me  
You've got a nerve to walk away  
Mark the words I'm gonna say  
Mister, you just made a big mistake_

_~ Full Frontal, You think you're a man~_


	7. VII For His Majesty's Pleasure

**Title:** Fortune's Favours  
**Pairing:** Charles Brandon / Henry Tudor  
**Rating:** M  
**Story Summary: ** The story follows the storyline of the show, except for the fact that the King and his favorite Duke get a little closer in its course than in the original, making everything even more complicated. ;-)  
**Disclaimer:** The Tudors belong to Showtime, I have absolutely no claim on the characters, the storyline etc.  
**A/N:** I know the Tudors are in many points not exactly what you'd call historically accurate, still, in this fanfiction I decided to go with the Showtime version to avoid confusions.

First big thanks to bunnster, who did the beta-reading this time and also inspired me for the letter Charles wrote to Henry, which is actually a combination of two letters the real Charles Brandon wrote after marrying the dowager queen of France, Mary Tudor, without her brother's permission. One can be found at British History online

**Chapter Summary:** Charles finally returns to court to beg Henry's forgiveness for marrying his sister, but the king demands a rather unusual retribution…  
**Chapter Warnings:** Ah, well, here we go: Graphic slash sex, strong language and once through the BDSM field – including d/s elements, bondage and slight physical abuse. If you don't like... you will when having finished. Trust me ;-)

_**VII **_

_**For His Majesty's Pleasure**_

_They flee from me, that sometime did me seek,  
With naked foot stalking within my chamber.  
Once have I seen them gentle, tame, and meek,  
That now are wild, and do not once remember,  
That sometime they have put themselves in danger  
To take bread at my hand ; and now they range  
Busily seeking in continual change._

_ ~ Sir Thomas Wyatt~_

One of nobility's greatest disadvantages was clearly that you had to surround yourself and be friendly to people you actually didn't like at all. Or at least Charles thought so as he watched the newly created Lord Rochford enjoy the roast lamb and his wine with visible pleasure, trying to maintain a politely interested face as Boleyn talked seemingly casually about news from court. Charles knew perfectly well that they both knew the other one was pretending and the only purpose of that chat was to lure him and to show him quite plainly how much he missed the court. As if he had needed a reminder of that. Still, he was taking in every detail and every news greedily, especially those about the king and his well-being, although they didn't improve his mood. Boleyn wasn't frank with it, but from some sentences he dropped here and there Charles could conclude that his fears had proved true and Henry seemed to become closer with Anne Boleyn by the day.

All together, it was a terrible supper and Margaret who had been unusually quiet retreated soon after the dessert had been served. Charles felt the usual sting of guilt when he watched her leave, knowing quite well that the unhappy look in her eyes was his fault alone. If he hadn't lost his nerve, if he hadn't proposed to her out of a strange mix of pity, love and defiance they both would have been able to return to court months ago instead of being forced to sit out Henry's wrath in their beautiful prison in the Suffolk countryside.

"Alas, Your Grace, have you considered the Duke of Norfolk's offering?" Boleyn's voice ripped him out of his pensiveness, as he let the serving maid pour him another glass of wine.

"Certainly," Charles answered, seeing no point in denying it. In fact, he had thought about nothing else since the man had arrived this afternoon.

"So what do you say?"

"I said that I have considered it not that I've made a decision yet," Charles answered coolly, stretching his legs. "Tell me, my lord, how exactly does Norfolk intend to persuade the king to welcome me back to court?"

Boleyn only shrugged. "How am I supposed to know? But Norfolk is quite influential, I am convinced there are possibilities for him. After all he's currently the man with the highest rank of nobility in the kingdom... who still enjoys the king's favour."

The side blow hit its supposed mark, still Charles managed to keep a calm face. "I've heard that lately the Privy Council have been quite busy trying to convince the king that I should be either imprisoned or executed. And from what I've heard, it was the same Cardinal Wolsey who spoke in my favour that I am supposed to plot against now, if I agree to your offer."

"Well, the Cardinal is a clever man. He knows that the king might forgive you in time and probably doesn't wish to have another powerful noble opposing him. But you should ask yourself, Your Grace, if Wolsey had acted so much in your favour, how come you are still sitting here and the king has yet not called for you in months?"

"You speak as if His Majesty's decision to do so only depended upon your suggestions," Charles replied, not worrying to hide his disdain any more. "But if even the Cardinal thinks he might forgive me in time, why shouldn't I just wait instead of letting you draw me into your conspiracies?"

"Of course you can." Boleyn only smiled as an answer, obviously enjoying having the upper hand, then suddenly changed the topic. "Your wife is already with child, Your Grace?"

"My... what?" Charles asked, feeling too puzzled to hide it.

"She drank no wine during supper. Women often dislike the taste when being pregnant," Boleyn explained as if he was teaching a stupid boy. "Well, obviously you don't know about it, so I might be wrong. But if she is... I suppose you'd like the king to be your firstborn's godfather?"

Charles could only stare at him, for the first time totally lacking an answer. Boleyn's smile widened self-confidently before he leaned over the table, his voice suddenly changing from casual to insistent.

"I have noticed even more during supper, Your Grace. For example that you have hardly touched the food and, if you allow me to speak frankly, you look a little worn out. To be honest with you, I am quite convinced that His Majesty will forgive you in time, but no one knows when this will be. And though even a man like Norfolk can do no miracles, at least he could speed up the process and get you an audience with the king and a chance to apologize. What happens then will lie entirely in your hands, but I'm quite convinced you'll find a way to... smooth his wrath."

There is was again, that little misgiving, the small hint that Boleyn might know more about Henry and him than Charles liked. He felt a little dazed, not knowing what to say or how to react best to those words, but Boleyn had obviously noticed and stood up politely.

"I'd like to apologize if I've been too insistent to Your Grace. If you don't object, I will retreat for the evening and give you the time to think about everything."

"Of course," Charles replied mechanically, but called him back in a low voice when Boleyn had just turned to leave. "My lord..."

"Your Grace?"

"How furious is he still?" He really hadn't wanted to ask, especially not Boleyn, but the question was out before he could prevent it and he could have slapped himself for the meek sound of his own voice. Boleyn stopped, pensively measuring him with his gaze for a moment before he answered. "After all that I've heard, he is still quite angry and unforgiving. You've hurt him deeply, but you probably know that better than I do."

Charles slowly nodded. "You will have my answer in the morning, my lord. Good night to you."

"And to you, Your Grace." Boleyn bowed and then left, leaving Charles alone with his thoughts. For some time, he remained at the table, thoughtfully swirling the rest of the wine in his cup, before finally rising from his seat with a sigh. He decided that he needed a little fresh air and so he left the house to stroll a few steps through the park of the manor.

It was a warm night for April and the bushes were already wrapped in a lush green, the wind carrying the unmistakable smell of blossoms in full bloom. A soft, warm wind made the newly leafy trees rustle and some frogs were croaking at a nearby pond. The sound made Charles involuntary think of the days when he and Henry had been boys and tried to catch the quick little creatures. Even then they had always competed who of them was the better hunter, as they'd always competed in nearly everything they did together. Despite it Charles had always felt utterly loyal to his prince and later his king, he had never let Henry win any game deliberately. And he knew that this was the major reason why he was still banished from court after half a year, because Henry and he were both too stubborn and too much standing on their pride to give in.

"Charles?"

He was so deep in thought that he flinched a little at the sound of the voice. "What are you doing out here, dear?"

Margaret approached him slowly, wearing only a red, embroidered robe over her white undergarment, the soft wind playing with her loosened hair. "You didn't come to bed and I saw you out here from the window."

"I wasn't feeling tired, I had too much to think about," he answered evasively, rubbing his forehead. "You should go back inside, it's still cold out here..."

"But you should be tired, after all, you haven't slept much the last days," she said, gently placing her hands on his arms. "Or the last months, to be honest, unless you count your nightly tossing and turning as pleasurable rest."

Charles grimaced slightly. "I'm alright, wife, don't you worry about me..."

"But you're not, my dearest husband," she insisted. "You're suffering."

He didn't feel in the mood to deny this simple truth. "Obviously Henry doesn't, since he seems to be head over heels in love with Boleyn's girl."

Margaret wrinkled her nose. "Boleyn certainly is smug about that fact, arrogant prick that he is. But he'll soon get a nasty surprise when he discovers my dear brother will drop his precious little Anne soon as he did with her sister and all his former mistresses."

"He's surely an arrogant prick but in one point he may be right, namely that Norfolk might be able to put in a good word for us with Henry," Charles said thoughtfully. "I don't actually look forward to meddle with the conspiracies at court, nor do I like the thought of denunciating Wolsey for no reason but to give them greater power, still..." He let the sentence trail off and sighed softly, then gently pulled her into his arms. Her slender figure felt so light and fragile in his arms, though he knew that her body sheltered the soul of a fighter.

"What do you think I should do?" he asked her, which made a tiny smile appear on her face.

"That's the second time today you ask this question."

"Well, since you threw half of our tableware at me last time I made a decision and I don't have the money to replace it again, I'd prefer if you approve it this time," he teased half-heartedly.

She shrugged. "But I can't help you with this, since I feel too indecisive myself. On the one hand... I really like it out here and I like the time and attention you give me and that I don't have to share with anyone else, neither with other women nor with your friends and especially not with my brother." She put a finger on his lips just as he wanted to protest. "But these are selfish, jealous thoughts and seeing how unhappy you are doesn't actually make me feel better. And of course I also wish for Henry to forgive us, especially since..." She paused for a moment as if unsure how to go on, but then sighed just a little. "I'm with child, Charles."

His heart seemed to stop for a split second and he didn't know if it was because of fear, joy or the distinct feeling that he was a complete fool. Not because Boleyn had realized it before he even knew, though it really felt irritating, but because of the fact that all of a sudden, the whole weight of his unfortunate decision half a year ago seemed to crush on him, leaving him feeling dazed and stupid. He had always acted as if this matter was only about himself, his pride and his jealousy, a contest between two boys who were both too stubborn to give in.

Well, they were no boys any more, this was not a game and Margaret not an instrument for a power struggle. Still, a part of him had always known that he had been using her and that he shouldn't have, but until that very moment, he had never wanted to admit it to himself. And now it was far too late to get out of it.

"You don't look happy about it," Margaret's concerned voice ripped him out of his thoughts and he cleared his throat hastily.

"But I am. Really, sweetheart, this is wonderful." She relaxed, however, a doubtful spark remained in her eyes and to ease her as well as his own conscience he leaned down and kissed her. It was an affectionate, reassuring kiss and it had its desired effect, first calming and then heating her up, familiar tension flaring up between them. Charles had always loved this about her, this demanding, untamed passion he could kindle so easily, that fierceness none of the women he'd bedded before her had ever possessed. Of course it was also a quality she shared with her brother but he forced the thought of Henry back as he'd done a hundred times before and instead grabbed her, taking her up in his arms and to their sleeping chamber where he made love to her passionately and with the insistent patience only someone who felt overly guilty could bring up. And after they'd finished and she had fallen asleep in his arms, he stood up quietly, leaving her peacefully sleeping on the bed. His adjoining study was cast in darkness, but he lit a single candle at the embers in the fireplace, then put out a single piece of parchment and a quill. Soft, warm determination was flowing through his body that might have been the relief after the carnal act, but Charles knew better.

With a soft sigh, he put the quill into the ink, hesitating only for a moment before he lowered it to the parchment and began to write.

_My most gracious Sovereign Lord, _

_With the most sorrowful and afflicted heart I beseech you to forgive your most poor subject his offences against Your Majesty, namely my marriage to Your Majesty's sister, which I admit I have done greatly amiss. It strikes my heart with grief that I should be the cause for your unhappiness and I pray you to rather promise me prison, death or otherwise, as may be Your Majesty's pleasure, than nurse further mistrust in your heart that I should not be true to you. _

_I was informed in diverse ways that most of your whole council is clearly determined to tempt Your Majesty to destroy me by said means. Still, methinks Your Majesty should decide this matter as he thinks best, for only you are my sovereign lord and master who has brought me up out of nothing; and I am your subject and servant who has offended you alone with breaking my promises and violating the trust Your Majesty has put in me._ _And so I will most gladly yield myself into Your Majesty's hands alone to do with my poor body your gracious pleasure, not fearing the malice of them. For I know Your Majesty to be of such nature that it cannot be your desire to destroy me. __Before I did this, __there was never a man that had such a loving and kind master, nor was there ever a master that ever had a truer servant than Your Majesty has and shall ever have in me; whatever it is you might think of me now._

_So no matter what punishment I will have, I shall thank God and Your Majesty of it, and think that I have well deserved it__. __And thus, I make an end, with my heart filled with more sorrow and more hope than ever a man's heart was, praying to the Lord to send Your Majesty your most honourable heart's desire with long life, and me most guilty wretch your gracious favour, no matter what I shall endure to regain it. _

_Until that day that I shall await hopefully, I remain your most humble subject and servant, _

_Charles Suffolk_

Henry sighed softly, as he had always done after the many times he had read Charles' letter by now, playing absent-mindedly with the already worn out parchment. He knew every word by heart by now; still, he had no clue how to deal properly with his duke or what to think of this letter. One the one hand, the sentences suggested that Charles really regretted his folly, on the other hand Henry knew quite well that grand words and promises had always come easily over his friend's lips. Of course the letter was held quite formal, making it hard to distinguish between what was phrasing and what was truth, yet he sensed Charles' pride bobbing up there and then among the submissive as well as suggestive words. He seemed to be quite sure that Henry wouldn't pay attention to the demands of his council and neither execute nor imprison his former favourite. And of course he was right, but the fact that Charles obviously thought he had to remind him of his own exclusiveness wasn't to Henry's liking at all.

Still, the letter Norfolk had handed him was a beginning, as was the remark that the Duke of Suffolk had come to see him, stating that he'd crawl on his hands and knees to beg his king's forgiveness. Given the fact that the two dukes weren't exactly friends, Charles had to be quite desperate if he had grasped for that straw, and the very thought filled Henry with a grim satisfaction.

The sound of the door interrupted his thoughts. "Your Majesty? The court is present and awaits your attendance."

Henry shortly nodded at his groom before he stood up, taking a deep breath. He would know in a few moments whether his stubborn duke was really sorry and ready to have deeds following his pretty words.

A great lot of the courtiers were waiting in the Presence Chamber, the curious whispering and talking quickly dying down as Secretary Cromwell announced his presence. Still Henry didn't pay attention to anyone but the tall figure waiting near the entrance, dressed in unobtrusive brown with a darker mantle. For a split second their eyes met, but Charles had the wits to lower his gaze hastily.

"Your Majesty, the Duke of Suffolk!" Cromwell announced him as Henry had taken seat and watched as Charles came forward, still not looking directly at him but kneeling down and humbly bowing his head. Henry didn't need more than a single look at the familiar face to know he was utterly miserable, his face being a little paler than usual with dark circles around the grey eyes that told of a lot of restless nights lately. Pity welled up in him for a moment, but Henry resolutely forced it back, since this was hardly the time for it. Instead he finally allowed all his stored up anger and disappointment to come to the fore. Charles had only himself to blame for his misfortune and he deserved every bloody minute of this.

Nothing had been said since Cromwell had announced him. The court as well as the duke were dead silent, all waiting for Henry to say something. Slowly he stood up and came closer, measuring Charles with a cold and scrutinizing gaze.

"I heard you crawled here like a dog," he eventually began, his voice as disdainful as possible.

"Something like…" Charles replied, making attempts to raise his head but immediately lowering it again when Henry sharply commanded: "Hold your tongue!" And adding mockingly, as he began to walk around the kneeling manlike a predator circling his prey: "You were always too useful with it."

Only Charles could grasp the little ambiguity of his words and actually, the strong jaw clenched a little more, yet his voice remained low.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"Have you come to beg my forgiveness?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

Despite his anger, Henry couldn't help but admire the sight of the well-toned figure obediently kneeling on the floor with the head he used to hold high deliciously bowed. And so he leaned down closer, until his face was only inches apart from Charles' head and he could catch the familiar male scent that used to excite him so many times before.

"Well, then beg for it," Henry hissed, resisting the sudden urge to bury his head in the brown curls and inhale deeply. He saw Charles swallowing hard, knowing that it cost his friend quite an effort to proceed.

"With all my heart, with all my soul, with every ounce of my being… My king, my sovereign, my dread lord, I beg you to forgive your miserable servant." His voice was low but determined and despite the submissiveness of his words he spoke with a certain dignity. Henry didn't know whether it should annoy or rather intrigue him, but he remained silent, letting Charles go on with his plea.

"Your humble, worthless, thoughtless servant, who deserved so little and by your bounty and your grace, was given so much. Ungrateful wretch that I am," he hesitated for a split second, before adding, "…unworthy of Your Majesty's love."

It was so quiet you could have heard a pin drop after Charles had finished, all eyes in the room fixed on them both. Henry knew the court was awaiting his reaction curiously; however, he still had no idea what to do now. A part of him felt flattered by Charles' words and wanted nothing more than to pull his handsome duke first into his arms and then to his bed, but another was still full of cold fury and hurt, insisting that he wasn't done with him yet, not at all. And Henry knew he couldn't just accept Charles back without having satisfied that part since he would never be able to look at him without anger, distrust and a subtle uncertainty about how his duke truly felt about him.

However, these were not matters for all curious eyes of the court to witness and so without any explanation, he turned around, heading for the Privy Chambers. He only looked back once to order sharply: „Come here!"

Henry didn't wait to see whether his command was followed but crossed the adjoining dining room with large, angry steps, entering his study. For a moment when he was out of sight, he bit his lip, trying to calm his troubled feelings, this mix of anger, uncertainty, craving and power he just couldn't fully control. And even though he still hadn't decided how exactly to proceed right now, he didn't hesitate for a second as his hand reached for the dagger he had carelessly thrown onto the windowsill sometime, he didn't remember.

Soft steps followed him, hesitating as they reached the door, but Henry didn't give Charles the time to consider. Spinning around, he slammed the tall figure against the door frame with as much force as he could muster. His left hand closed hard around the neck, forcing the head up, while at the same time pressing cold steel against the throat. Charles only gave a little surprised sound and then froze utterly, staring at Henry but not fighting back.

Cold bluish green eyes met wide open grey ones, whose gaze became a little fearful as Henry kept up his merciless grip for some moments, enjoying the feeling of the quickened pulse fiercely pounding against his thumb. Then he eased his hold slowly, so far that Charles could breathe again, but neither taking away his hand nor the dagger.

"I never thought I'd say this, but actually, I can understand Buckingham for once," Henry said coldly. "It's just incredibly satisfying to have you at the sharp end of a blade."

To underline his words, he let the point of the weapon wander up the throat, a soft, cold caress making the fluttering pulse under his hand speed up even more.

"There's only one difference. Whereas he would have brought himself into trouble if he stabbed you, no one would care if I spilt your blood over the floor. Like you undoubtedly deserve. Don't you?"

And when Charles didn't answer immediately, Henry flicked up the point of the dagger just slightly, but with enough pressure that it cut through sensitive skin and made his friend flinch violently. Red crimson began to emerge from the small cut at once.

"I said, _don't you_?"

"Yes, Your Majesty, I probably do deserve it," Charles replied through clenched teeth.

"Then give me one good reason why I shouldn't."

Henry knew he was being cruel, however, he couldn't refrain from it, since it felt just too good to keep Charles on tenterhooks just for a while. Just like that bastard did with him after he had returned from Portugal.

"Because," Charles began after some moments of silence with strained composure, peering down at him, "Buckingham hated me and would have loved to see me dead, whereas you don't, Majesty. Or at least so I hope."

"I don't?" Henry laughed without any trace of humour, but finally put the dagger aside. "Your Grace, I guess I have every reason to loathe you after you've betrayed my trust threefold, namely as my subject, as my friend and as my lover!"

With grim satisfaction he watched the guilt creeping back into Charles' eyes and how he opened his mouth to say something but closed it eventually.

"Let me hear it," Henry commanded insistently.

Charles hesitated for a moment, but seemed to remember what happened the last time he had tried to skip an answer. "Your Majesty, I admit that I have failed you as your subject and servant as well as your friend. But since you said you didn't expect me to devote myself only to you... how can I have betrayed your trust as your lover?"

Henry gritted his teeth. Did Charles really just try to turn the tables and make him feel guilty?

"Well, congratulations, you did it anyway," he growled in barely restrained anger, knowing that his words were the truth the very moment he spoke them. "Are you pleased now?"

"Henry..." Charles obviously tried to reason with him, but Henry sharply cut his words, his grip on his neck tightening just a little.

"Yes or no, Charles? And don't you dare to call me that again."

Charles closed his eyes and took a deep breath, obviously struggling with his answer. "Your Majesty, what am I supposed to say when there is no answer to that question that would not displease you one way or the other?"

It was the truth, since negating the question would imply that he didn't care about Henry's feelings and by saying yes he'd admit that by marrying Margaret he had simply intended to make him jealous. Still Henry wanted, needed to know it desperately since it was essential for how to further deal further with him.

"You're supposed to tell me the truth instead of cajoling me," he therefore hissed.

"Well then, yes, in a way I am pleased," Charles exclaimed, in such a defiant tone that made Henry's strained temper finally snap. Before he could even think about it, his fist hit the strong jaw with a satisfying sound and when Charles staggered at the force of the blow, Henry grabbed his shoulders and roughly pushed him inside the study and onto his knees.

"Just stay like this," he ordered coldly, his voice still shaking with anger. "It suits you far better anyway."

Fortunately, Charles obeyed without any further comment, trembling slightly with the effort to keep still, his eyes fixed to an invisible spot on the floor. Only his hand carefully touched the spot on his chin where he had been hit and he grimaced slightly, but kept quiet. Henry clenched his fists, trying to calm down eventually. Still, he cursed himself for the fact that Charles had made him admit that his anger resulted at least partly from the fact that he was jealous.

"This is not to your liking at all, is it?" he finally asked slowly, again circling the kneeling until he stood in front of him, glaring down at him. You probably expected coming here and reciting some pretty lines would be enough to melt my heart so I'd drag you to my bed the same hour and everything would be like before. Am I right?"

Charles didn't look up but finally nodded reluctantly.

"Well, then let me remind you that unfortunately, you are still married to my sister," Henry hissed, again feeling his bile rise. "I will allow you to return to court since I think the banishment and your public excuse are punishment enough to forgive my Duke of Suffolk. But did you really think I'd keep my sister's husband as my bedfellow without a second thought? What a man do you think I am, Charles? "

"You are my king, my lord and master." The answer was low, but determined. "But you are also my friend and my lover. And I know..."

"You're wrong," Henry interrupted him cruelly. "I am your lord and master indeed and I'm going to be until either I or you stop breathing. But your friend, your lover? I don't think I should really call you these ever again."

Charles swallowed hard and Henry realized that he had actually not counted on his refusal. He seemed to struggle with himself for some painful moments, his jaw clenching, until he finally raised his head, all anger and defiance vanished from his beautiful grey eyes.

"Majesty, please.... don't do this to me."

The soft, pleading tone of his voice made Henry's wrath calm, but just a little. "What do you mean?" he asked sharply although he knew.

Charles weakly shook his head, looking entirely miserable and desperate. "I don't wish to return if you deny me what I had then, Majesty. I wouldn't sustain a single day at court knowing that I'm out of your favour. Banish me forever, order my execution or kill me right here, I don't mind, since without you, I am nothing. But if you still care for me in any way, I beg you, don't do this to both of us. After all, you shouldn't suffer for my faults."

"You're really insufferably arrogant, considering that you are just begging me to fuck you again," Henry stated disdainfully, though he couldn't suppress a warm feeling spreading inside his body at Charles' words. Of course he knew Charles was pleading for more than just returning to his bed, but the fact that it was obviously important enough to him not to exclude it from his plea filled him with a strange feeling of relief.

Slowly, he approached Charles, gently placing two fingers under his chin and raising his head so that their eyes met. "So it shall be all or nothing for you? Very well then. But what will you give me if I approve?"

"Whatever it is Your Majesty desires, you shall have it," Charles said determinedly.

"Anything?" Henry asked with a predatory smile playing around the corners of his mouth, feeling utterly delighted when Charles nodded.

"Yes, Majesty."

Henry deliberately waited some moments that had to feel like hours to Charles, pretending to consider the offer. But actually, he knew what he had to do now immediately. And the very moment he realized it, all his helpless wrath and fury seemed to calm down to a feeling of confidence and determination. Charles hadn't disappointed him and had shown that he was truly sorry. Now the ball was in his own court, all the power back in his hand as it used to be.

So finally, he leaned down to Charles, his lips brushing the shell of his ear and sending a delicious shiver through his lover's entire body as he whispered: "Remember our little wager? The joust?"

And as Charles only nodded, he continued without further ado: "Excellent. Then, if you really want this, go to my sleeping chamber and undress yourself. When you're done, kneel down in front of the bed and wait for me to teach you a little lesson in obedience you're obviously in desperate need of."

The look Charles gave him was somewhere between tantalising and surrendering and so irresistible for Henry that he had to restrain himself not to drag his friend to the floor right here in his study to fuck him senseless like he did their first night together. Still, doing so wouldn't have served the purpose he wanted to achieve by this. And so he wordlessly watched his duke getting up slowly and heading for the bedchamber without another glance or word.

After Charles had vanished behind the thin curtain, Henry had to lean on the table to support himself for a moment. He just felt a little dizzy, with a lot of opposing emotions troubling him. On the one hand, he was still angry and wished to wreak his annoyance on its true source, yet when Charles had left the room, he also realized how much he had missed him, how much their separation had hurt him as well. And above all others, an almost strange, strong feeling of arousal shot through his entire body, making every limb prickle with anticipation. Just to think of the fact that the man he knew from boyhood and had always competed with, the one he knew to be almost as proud as himself, had just agreed to utterly submit to him and was waiting for him, naked and kneeling in the adjoining room... The thought alone was enough to make him hard. He had pictured this for quite some time, strictly speaking already since that dream about Charles as the bound centaur trembling so deliciously under his hands. However, he had always known that he couldn't just demand this from his lover. The jousting wager had been a try, but now Henry was almost glad he had lost it, since this way it was a dozen times more alluring.

Reaching for the flagon of wine on the table and pouring himself a cup, Henry noticed that his hands were trembling slightly. He emptied the cup in one gulp, the wine feeling pleasantly cool in his dry mouth. And after he had taken a few deep breaths to calm himself, inwardly preparing for what he was about to do, he slowly straightened and followed his duke into the bedchamber.

The curtains were closed and since the day was cold and rainy, a small fire was flickering at the fireplace It cast the room into a golden light and painted beautiful patterns of light and shadow on the strong back of the man who knelt on the wooden floor just as he had done in the Presence Chamber. Charles didn't look up when Henry entered but kept his head bowed, and Henry thanked the heavens for it, since he was sure his face would have given him away that moment. For a fleeting moment he wished he could have Charles painted like that, preserved for eternity, looking all vulnerable and seductive in his willing surrender. It was an image of utter perfection to Henry, but sadly enough, his court painter probably wouldn't share his opinion on this.

"Ready, Brandon?" he eventually asked mockingly, leaning against the doorframe.

"Yes, Your Majesty," Charles replied softly without raising his head.

Henry nodded, more to himself and then let his gaze wander through the room searchingly. In his fantasies, he had always had Charles chained up but since he naturally had no chains in his bedchamber, there had to be a replacement. And he didn't have to search long until his eyes fell on his black silk robe that neatly hung next to the door. The thin belt glided from its loops without a sound and Henry wrapped it around his left hand, before he finally approached the kneeling man. Charles tensed tangibly as Henry lightly put a hand between his shoulder blades, slowly and possessively running it down the spine.

"Just one thing, to make it clear," he muttered into his ear. "I do this because you have asked for it. So you'll be the one responsible for it this time, my darling duke. And I absolutely don't care about how you deal with your conscience or the fact that you give yourself to your wife's brother that way. It is not my problem since you're the one who wants this in the first place. Is that understood?"

"Yes," Charles whispered, barely audible.

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, Majesty."

"Good. Then give me your hands now."

Charles obeyed and Henry noticed the deep blush on his face as he took his wrists in his hands, urging him closer to the bed. He knew how much self-control it took his friend to endure this and resist the instinct to fight Henry when he tied his left wrist with the silk belt to one bed post. For the other hand he loosened his own smooth leather belt, carefully tying the right hand to the other post, tightly, but not so tight that it cut into the sensitive skin. After he had finished, Henry stepped back to admire the sight, the muscular, golden body being all tense and completely at his mercy, prone to everything he wanted to do with it right now...

Henry swallowed hard, trying to brace himself before he stepped closer and leaned down again. Burying his right hand deeply into the dark curls, he pulled the head aside and began to roughly bite and suck a path down Charles' neck, finally allowing his stored up desire to come to the fore. His lover gasped both in surprise and pain, since Henry didn't bother to be gentle, and struggled against his bonds in a useless attempt to withdraw. It amused Henry more than it angered him, still, he simply pushed Charles' head and shoulders down to the mattress, holding him there with ease.

"Keep still," he ordered huskily, gently licking over the small cut his dagger had left before. It hadn't been deep and therefore had already stopped bleeding, but as Henry pressed his tongue against the little injury, he tasted the salty savour on his tongue, a mix of blood drops and sweat. Charles was panting heavier now, shivering under Henry's hands as he let them wander over the strong body he had missed so much, exploring it anew. His fingers ran up his arms, affirmatively closing around the bound wrists, over his back, sides and chest, deliberately slow and savouring every single moment of it. And Henry couldn't resist pressing himself closer to his enticing prey, biting the shoulders and leaving fresh purple bruises in the wake of his pathway down his back. The plain skin felt hot under his hands as they travelled further down as well, tightly closing around the firm buttocks, down the thighs and up again... A raw moan escaped Charles' lips as Henry's hand all of a sudden roughly grasped his cock and he reared up but Henry remorselessly forced him down again.

"I said keep still."

A hard slap on the buttocks accompanied his words and Charles winced, yet he stubbornly pressed his lips together, refusing to make a sound. Henry watched Charles' expression closely as he slowly began to stroke him, taking delight in his visible fight between arousal and the desperate attempt to keep some dignity in this. His jaw was clenched and his teeth gritted to choke down every moan, a decisive blush spreading over his cheeks and his eyes were closed. Henry could have watched him for hours but he intended to push him even further than this.

"I have to admit," he muttered tauntingly into Charles' ear, gently biting the earlobe, "despite having disappointed me, you still make a fucking excellent toy. Or the other way around," he added with a low chuckle, but quickly returned back to serious. "Look at me."

Slowly, almost reluctantly Charles turned his head just a little and opened his eyes, revealing a turmoil of conflicting emotions in the darkened grey, of lust, fear, devotion, anger, despair...

With a soft, lustful growl Henry grabbed his chin and drew him into a violent, bruising kiss, ravishing that rash mouth which had dared to object him before, with his tongue. There was nothing sweet, playful or seductive about it, just blind passion and stored-up anger meant to subdue and punish. And if Charles normally would have opposed him, taking the challenge for dominance, he now just meekly let it happen that Henry claimed his mouth in such a brutal way, flinching violently as his lover's teeth dug deeply into his bottom lip. As they finally parted, they were both gasping for breath, still Henry didn't let go of Charles but slowly traced his deliciously swollen lips with his fingers, pleased that he didn't try to withdraw.

"Open your mouth." A little nudge accompanied the order and this time Charles obeyed immediately and started by his own accord to suck and wet the two fingers Henry slid in. His eyes never left Henry's while doing so, a spark of defiance still in them stating that he was wildly determined to take on everything Henry would put him through. And the king loved to see him struggle with his pride, since it was a struggle he was bound to lose, and the challenge to finally overcome his resistance utterly just stirred up his blood even more. Withdrawing his fingers, Henry pushed Charles' head back to the mattress.

"Well, Brandon, let's see what you can take."

And this time Charles couldn't completely suppress the little outcry when rough fingers pushed into him all of a sudden. Henry had to grit his teeth just for a moment as he watched Charles' face, grimacing with lust and pain at the same time. His cock, being still restrained by his breeches, was almost aching by now, and the thought of having this tight, alluring heat around it was overwhelming for an instant. Still, he forced himself to be patient, just for another while.

"Seems you're not used to that anymore," he teased Charles instead, as he felt he had eased enough to pay attention to his words. And while he began to move his fingers, slowly at first, Henry leaned down to Charles' ear, his words one dark promise:

"You can consider yourself lucky, for I'll work you hard enough to make sure you'll feel the reminder of me for the next days, no matter if you sit, walk or ride on fucking horseback..."

Another choked down moan was the only answer as Henry steadily increased his pace. The other hand lightly cupped Charles' neck to make sure he stayed down as he began to roughly fuck him with his fingers, teasing the hell out of his young duke. Henry had bedded him long enough to know how to turn him on, but when Charles' moans became louder and fiercer, he pulled back with a jerk.

"Enough of that."

Henry realized the husky sound of his own voice and his clothes seemed to become heavy and uncomfortably sticking to his body that felt far too hot. Breathing fiercely, he stepped back, hastily removing the annoying cloth, while leaving Charles panting on the bed and ignoring the little desperate sound coming from his lips. He had originally thought of making his lover service him with his mouth, yet he had neither the patience nor the stamina for it right now.

Returning to the bed, he grabbed Charles' neck and roughly pulled him forward and up the bed, until his upper body came to lie entirely upon the high mattress, his arms being forced back due to the bonds. Spitting into his hand, Henry stroked his own cock a few times; since he had cast away the body oil in frustration some months ago, Charles would just have to do with that for now. And if it hurt a little more because of it, so much the better.

Henry noticed that Charles had turned his head and was watching him, now with an almost desperate silent plea in his eyes. For a few moments, he kept their gazes locked, before he stepped behind him, lightly placing his hand on his hips, yet hesitating.

"Now. I want you to beg for this."

Charles swallowed hard, but his resistance was visibly fading. "Please..." It was no more than a raw whisper.

"Please what?" Henry asked without mercy, pressing himself a little closer to the bound man, so that Charles could feel the hard, hot flesh rubbing teasingly between his buttocks. "I'd like to hear a little more of you."

"Majesty..." Every word seemed to cost Charles quite an effort, yet all defiance seemed to have vanished from his voice, being soft and pleading."I said I'd give you anything... anything you desired. So if it's my body that you want, then I beg you most humbly..." he breathed sharply, obviously struggling for words, "to take it for Your Majesty's pleasure... and fuck me as long as it pleases you."

Oh God, yes, that was better.

"Granted, Brandon," Henry hissed through gritted teeth, grabbing Charles' hip harder and thrusting into him with a single, fierce move. For a moment he thought he would come at once just from the heat and the clenching muscles that surrounded him, his groan mingling with Charles' outcry. He had to wait for a moment and take a deep breath before he could go on, slowly pushing in with hard and deep thrusts, each one drawing another gasp from his lover's lips. The golden skin was covered in sweat entirely that beautifully reflected in the firelight, flawless except for the purple bruises running from the shoulder up the neck and to the hair line of the soaking brown curls. By the looks Charles gave him, Henry could just have ravished him until he'd come in no time, still he wasn't done with him entirely.

"Look at you..." he whispered, not bothering to keep the triumph from his voice, "here you are, one of the mightiest peers in the kingdom, husband of a princess... tied to the bedposts, lying on your stomach and getting fucked like a common whore. And for what?" A single, exceptionally hard thrust made Charles yelp. "Tell me one thing, Brandon: Among all cunts you've ever fucked, was there ever a woman who could compare to me? Who thrilled you more than I do when I take you? Tell me!"

"Majesty... I..." A short whimper came over Charles' lips as Henry's thrusts became faster and more rhythmic, "...no... never..."

"Good..." Henry hissed, his nails digging deeply into Charles' hip as he leaned over him, pressing himself against his back. "Then let me tell you one thing... if you should ever get the stupid idea of cheating on my sister... if I even hear of you sharing another bed than hers or mine... then may God have mercy on you, Charles Brandon... for I won't. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Majesty..." It was more of an outcry than an answer, and Henry felt Charles ecstatically bucking under him, in the desperate attempt to make him thrust even deeper. "Majesty...please, I...for God's sake, Henry, please... _please..."_

With a groan and not bothering about the use of his first name now, Henry grabbed his lover harder and shoved the other under his body to grab Charles' cock. The pleading gaze out of grey eyes being clouded with lust was enough to make him forget about everything, everything that wasn't his lover's eager and compliant body under his own, their mingled outcries and moans, the heat, the breathtaking friction... All the troubling and conflicting emotions Henry had felt before melted into overwhelming, blinding lust and passion, as he slammed in and out of that delicious tightness as if caught in a frenzy, fucking his favourite lover and toy as he'd never done before. And it didn't take long until Charles' cried out, his body tensing and writhing on the sheets and Henry followed him just instants later. He came hard and long, just to fall on his lover's strong back afterwards, spent and sated and for some blissful moments too exhausted to even move.

When the heaviness slowly began to fade from his limbs and his breath calmed down he remembered Charles was still tied to the bedposts and sluggishly reached for his wrists to free him. The leather belt was easy to remove, different from the silk which had tightened when Charles had struggled and deeply cut into the flesh, but the other wrist had some treacherous grazes from the leather as well. As Henry let his arms go they fell down immediately, as if Charles had lost all strength in his limbs all of a sudden. Only now, Henry realized that his friend was shaking violently.

Without thinking, he pulled Charles into his arms, nestled against his back and gently squeezed and stroke his shoulder, calming and easing, while idly wondering why it seemed to be the most natural thing to do for him now. They had not given comfort to each other in such an intimate way since their boyhood, the last time Henry could remember being the day when his father had died and he knew he had to become king. But still, even then it had always been Charles comforting him, Charles being the strong shoulder he could lean on when he felt weak. Yet it didn't feel strange to have their roles reversed for now, him being the one holding and soothing his lover, and even the fact that he had been so angry at him half an hour ago didn't bother him anymore.

They didn't speak, words being unnecessary between them. And later Henry couldn't say how much time had passed in which he did nothing but gently stroking Charles, savouring in the warm, joyous feeling of the strangely intimate and quiet moment which was their reunion, when Charles slowly turned towards him. Even in the dim firelight Henry could see the grey eyes were gleaming treacherously, when he hesitatingly reached out for his face, covering his lips in a gentle, almost shy kiss. And Henry replied the kiss without a second thought, a silent confirmation to an unasked question, gently running a hand through Charles' hair. Their lips slowly brushed against each other, caressing, soothing and lingering in this sweet moment without a single thought of anything else but them both. Henry still held Charles in his arms for a while and after some more time had passed he realized from his breath getting slower and deeper, that he must have fallen asleep. A small smile played around Henry's lips as he slowly and as quietly as possible sat up on the bed. Charles' handsome features were relaxed, and he seemed to be utterly, finally relieved at once.

"Welcome back, my darling duke," Henry whispered, affectionately running a hand through the dishevelled brown hair again.

In the fireplace, the flames were still flickering, casting their everlasting mysterious patterns of light and shadows on the wall.

_Banging onto your front-door_

_My pride's spilled on the floor  
My hands and knees are bruised_

_And now I'm crawling back to you  
Begging for a second chance _

_Are you gonna let me in?  
I was running from the truth _

_And now I'm crawling back to you_

_~ Backstreet Boys, Crawling Back to You~_

**A/N:** You might have noticed I took the liberty to subsitute the armwrestling scene *ahem* The reason for that is - except for the fact that I wanted a hot sex scene in here - that I never really understood its purpose. Henry hates losing games, so why does he allow Charles to come back to court when he loses the game? Besides, I always thought that arm wrestling thing was always some kind of metaphor for hot make-up sex. I mean... just give you the sound of the scene without looking at the screen... ;-) I hope you enjoy the chapter and of course I'm DYING to know what you think about it! And besides, I made a little wallpaper that fits the chapter. So please review!


	8. VIII Unfaithful

**Title:** Fortune's Favours  
**Pairing:** Charles Brandon / Henry Tudor  
**Rating: **M  
**Story Summary:** King Henry and his favorite duke get a little closer than best friends normally are, complicating matters even more than they are already. Covers season 1 & 2.  
**Disclaimer:** The Tudors belong to Showtime, I have absolutely no claim on the characters, the storyline etc.  
**A/N:** I know the Tudors are in many points not exactly what you'd call historically accurate, still, in this fanfiction I decided to go with the Showtime version to avoid confusions.  
In this chapter, I decided to make one exception, though. In the show, Charles' and Margaret's son is named Edward, yet I decided to name him Henry like the original Charles Brandon's eldest son from the marriage with Princess Mary. I thought it was so much cuter and after all what Henry did for him, I thought it to be only natural that Charles named his son after him.  
Thanks to Narya for beta-reading, thanks to everyone for your lovely comments that keep me writing!

Btw, another important note: Those of you who like Fortune's Favours will maybe pleased to know that bunnster wrote a little add-on to chapter 7. It's a really cute and hot morning after scene and since I love it as well as I feel flattered about it, I would most heartily recommend you read **Fortune's Favours Fanfic: The Morning After** by **bunnster **(unfortunately, Fanfiction . net does not allow to link other pages, so just check out my favourite stories, you'll find it there).

**Chapter Summary:** King Henry pays an unexpected visit to Suffolk and Charles and Margaret struggle with some marital problems  
**Chapter Warnings:** Explicit sex, slash

_**VIII**_

_**Unfaithful**_

The small boy was shouting with joy, fidgeting eagerly as a fresh breeze played with his hair and the mane of the huge black stallion he was sitting on. Yet as the animal began to move, his hands reached for the pommel of the saddle as he had been told.

"Well Henry, can you see London from up there?" Charles asked, amused about the visible delight of his son who was beaming down at him.

"Yes," the boy claimed with a firmness only children were able to express. "I can see the Palace where the King lives."

"Oh, really?" Charles pretended to be utterly surprised. "And is the King at home?"

"No... He is at war. And fights evil men and dragons!"

"Evil men _and_ dragons? Then he must be pretty busy indeed."

His son nodded gravely, then suddenly changed the topic. "Can I have a horse, father? Like Chiron?"

"Hm. Don't you think Chiron's still a bit tall for you?" Charles had to stifle a laugh, however, he had to admit that he felt proud how his son seemed to enjoy himself on horseback without any hint of fear. "You have to grow a little first."

"But that takes _so_ long," Henry pouted. "I want to ride to court with you and see the king."

"I'll take you to court when you're old enough," Charles promised, fleetingly thinking about the first time he had come to the royal court, a little orphan boy at the age of seven, terribly frightened. Maybe it was this memory why he loved to spend time with his son so much and the older the boy was getting, the more he liked it. He could have never imagined himself as a father, but in the last three years he had grown into this role as if it was the most natural thing on earth.

"Father, there are riders!" Young Henry interrupted his thoughts, pointing towards the alley that led to the manor. Charles followed his gaze and indeed, he spotted at least a dozen men on horseback in the royal livery coming closer in a light trot. But he had only eyes for the man ahead of the small group and immediately felt his heart beating a little faster in his chest, due to anticipation or nervousness, he didn't know. What on earth was Henry doing here in Suffolk right now?

"Charles!" Henry beamed as he urged his horse on for the last metres, jumping out of the saddle with his usual agility.

"Majesty, what an unexpected surprise!" With a smile spreading on his lips, Charles bowed a little, but Henry unceremoniously pulled him in his arms and into a firm embrace.

"Good surprise, I hope," he muttered into Charles' ear with an unmistakeable undertone in his voice, but didn't wait for an answer before he turned to the small boy who was still sitting on the black stallion and gaping with wide open eyes.

"And this is my splendid little nephew, the pride of the Brandon family?"

"Henry..." Charles gently prompted his firstborn who was still staring at the king, "won't you pay respect to your king as I've taught you?"

Hastily, Young Henry lowered his head, the round cheeks turning red. "Good afternoon, Uncle King..."

Charles rolled his eyes and gave his friend an apologetic look, though he had difficulties stifling a laugh. But Henry seemed more amused than offended and took his nephew out of the saddle to twirl him around.

"Good afternoon, Henry! My, you have grown! When I last saw you, you were not bigger than a pup and now you're riding such a big horse." He looked at Charles with a playful frown. "But you don't give away my gifts, do you?"

Charles only laughed and shook his head, but Young Henry felt obviously bound to defend his father. "Noo... Chiron is Father's horse," he told trustingly, his shyness quickly waning to his namesake's charm, "but he said I can have one, too, when I'm tall enough."

"But I fear this will take a few years. What would you say if your uncle gave you a pony, hm?"

A broad, joyous smile spread over the child's face before he turned to Charles with pleading eyes. "Father, may I? Please?"

"If His Majesty says so, it shall happen as he wishes," Charles gave in with a smile, but added with a side glance at Henry, "though I have to say he spoils you."

"Come on Charles, leave me the pleasure of spoiling my only nephew," Henry grinned, putting the child to the ground again. "After all, I have to compensate him for abducting his father to court tomorrow."

"So you'll stay for the night?" Charles asked, and as Henry nodded, he added the question, "What gives me the honour of your visit, by the way?"

"Oh, it was on the way," Henry shrugged the question off vaguely, "and I had some important things to discuss with you anyway. If you could maybe spare a minute right now..."

"Sure," Charles answered slowly, searching Henry's face just for a moment, before turning to the stable-lad who just came running and giving some short orders how to quarter their guests and horses. Finally, he leaned down to his son. "Henry, will you tell your mother that the king has unexpectedly arrived and that she should take care of preparing the guestroom and an adequate supper? We'll follow in a little while." The boy nodded eagerly and immediately scampered away.

"You know what, Charles?" Henry asked, loosely putting an arm around his shoulder. They strolled across the lawn, heading in the direction of the stables as guards and grooms behind them began to take care of the horses. "I really envy you. To have such a beautiful, smart son..."

"And so will you. Just give things a little more time."

"A little?" Henry snorted disdainfully. "This damn divorce matter now drags on for three years! Right now I have this Cardinal from Rome prying around at my court all the time, and we'll probably have to go through a trial that no doubt will be annoying and lengthy as well, and everything because Catherine is too stubborn and selfish to take the veil! Why can't she just get that I don't want her anymore?"

"And beyond that, I guess the Lady Anne still refuses to share the bed with you," Charles added as a matter-of-factly as he could with such a delicate topic.

"She..." As always when the topic of Anne Boleyn came up, Henry's face softened and that dreamy, enamoured expression clouded his eyes. "No, I don't blame her. After all, I promised to honour her maidenhead until we are married and it's not her fault that things are delaying." He sighed heavily while Charles bit his lower lip, wondering why the hell he had even brought this up. But then Henry shook his head violently, as if to cast away his worries with this simple movement of this head. "Don't make me think about all these hassles until we arrive at court, I pray you."

"Shall I make you think of something else then, Majesty?" Charles asked a little lower and with the hint of a tease in his voice. Meanwhile, they had reached the stables and surrounded the first building, so they were away from every curious eye from the manor or the stable boys. Henry stopped and eyed him with an amused smile playing around his lips, placing his hands upon his upper arms.

"That, my darling duke, would be most appreciated."

The touch was light, yet it made a delicious shiver run all over Charles' arms and he had to clear his throat before he could speak further. "Tonight, then?"

"Tonight?" Henry muttered, leaning in closer. "You're such a cruel man, Your Grace. After all, I've spent two days on horseback just for you."

A warm feeling of glee spread through Charles' body at Henry's words. Of course he had doubted Henry's words since he really couldn't imagine on what way of the king Suffolk could possibly lay, but to hear it from his own lips... The little voice in the back of his head which was ironically asking if he shouldn't rather feel embarrassed was suppressed in an instant, as always.

"Alas, I feel honoured, my Majesty," he therefore gently gave back, his words an open invitation.

"Well, show me how much..."

Their faces were only inches apart and just to feel Henry's hot breath on his lips as he spoke made Charles feel dizzy. Without a second thought or glance around he leaned forward to fiercely cover his friend's lips with his own, savouring the feeling and the taste he had missed the previous weeks. A short growl came out of Henry's throat, being challenged like that and he returned the kiss with the usual roughness and impatience. Their mouths crushed, tongues fighting to have the upper hand and Charles felt Henry's grip around his arms tighten, pushing him against the raw stone wall of the stable. Only when they ran out of breath they finally parted, both gasping heavily with the lack of air and flaring desire.

"I can't wait until tonight," Henry panted out, "I want you now!"

Of course there were a lot of good reasons why they shouldn't, in broad daylight, with a dozen grooms and guards still bustling about at the stables and Margaret probably expecting them in the manor. Yet Charles' hand seemed to have a mind of its own as he grabbed Henry's arm, pulling his friend with him to the next door.

"Then we'd better hurry..."

Small rays of sunlight peeked through the cracks in the wooden ceiling, casting the barn into a dim light their eyes first had to get used to. Apart from some simpler vehicles for transport the ground floor was used to host also the ducal carriage and Charles didn't waste a second, opened the door and gave Henry an impish, questioning look.

"I hope this suits your Majesty's taste..."

"Hardly," Henry gave back with a grin, roughly pushing him inside before he entered the vehicle himself just to be grabbed by his tunic and pulled down by Charles who was almost as eager as his king. They were all over each other in an instant, lips meeting fervently, hands clutching at the other's body while trying hastily to unlace the own breeches at the same time, elbows and knees ruggedly bumping against the wooden benches as they struggled to find a suiting position that was not uncomfortable as hell. They were both far too impatient and horny to waste much time with foreplay and so Charles had to suppress a sharp gasp when Henry pressed himself against his back, roughly joining their bodies. Fortunately, he still had the sense to hold himself back for a moment, or maybe the fierce sensation was also too much for him, according to his loud groan.

"God, I've nearly forgotten how tight you are..."

The comment made Charles laugh and grimace at the same moment. It has been a while since they had last shared a bed and he knew that as every time, it would take some time to get used again to the strange mix of pain and pleasure it was. Yet meanwhile he knew that the hurt would pass very soon, leaving only the pleasure.

"I'm afraid so have I."

A low chuckle into his ear was the only response and after some moments Henry began to move, slowly first but soon picking up the pace. Charles didn't object but willingly put up with it, loving both the roughness and the intensity Henry seized him with and moaning softly to encourage his lover even further. But then all of a sudden, a distinct sound let them freeze in their movements, namely the low creaking from the front doors of the barn, together with the sunlight that fell into the dim building.

_Bloody fuck..._

Charles was far too shocked to react, but Henry, being more quick-wittedly, pushed his head down to the bench and then ducked himself, the lean body entirely pressed against Charles' back, his head buried in the curve of his lover's neck.

"Henry..." Charles whispered and struggled against his weight, for a moment only panicking with the thought of what would happen if whoever entered the barn right now might find them here like this. His Grace, the Duke of Suffolk on his knees, getting laid by the King of England... it would make a hell of a scandal, that was for sure.

"Shhh, quiet," Henry lowly hissed into his ear. "Do you really want to stumble out with your pants around your ankles? We'll wait till they're gone..."

According to the voices it was two of the stable-lads who had entered, chatting and joking merrily with each other. Charles listened, all tensed up, trying to figure out if they came near the carriage, but they seemed to be heading for the ladder and the barn's haymow. Probably they needed some for the additional horses...

A gentle kiss was pressed upon his temple and Henry reassuringly stroked his side, as he'd do with a scared horse. "You're so tense, darling duke..."

He was probably right, still, Charles couldn't help but focus on the sounds from the barn, steps on the ladder, the muffled slump when hay bales hit the ground. He only realized that he had held his breath when he suddenly felt Henry's hand closing around his cock, gently squeezing, which drew a low gasp from his lips.

"Stop that, Henry!"

"Relax," the same muttered teasingly into his ear. "They won't come here... given you don't make too much noise, of course..." The hand between Charles' legs began to stroke the sensitive flesh, painfully slow and gentle, while the duke almost bit his tongue to prevent himself from moaning. The knowledge that even one wrong sound would lead to their discovery together with the fact that he was trapped under Henry's weight, whose member was still buried deep inside of him, aroused him to no end as well as it scared him. Finally, after an eternity, how it seemed to Charles, the voices were heading for the exit again and the door of the bran fell shut.

"Damn, that... was a close call," Charles half breathed, half moaned. "If they... saw us here..."

"Well, then we'd probably have to have them killed," Henry replied unconcernedly.

"_What?"_

Charles couldn't believe his ears and with utter horror tried to turn to his lover to face him but Henry chuckled.

"I was only joking."

Whether it was out of relief or the fact that Henry slammed his hips hard against his, Charles failed to respond to this but finally cried out in a low voice, spending all over Henry's hand while the same amusedly laughed into his ear.

* * *

The supper was nearly over and the maids were taking away the plates and food rests. Henry had excused himself quickly after having finished his meal, stating that he felt tired from the long ride, and had retreated to his chambers, not without a covertly wink at Charles whose meaning his friend knew far too well. And he would've loved to follow his king right away, still he could hardly do so with Margaret still sitting at the table, half-heartedly plucking some fruits from the plate standing in front of them. It was obvious something was wrong with her, since she had hardly spoken during supper, answering Henry's questions politely, but still with visible distance. Charles guessed he would have to find out what it was though he didn't feel in the mood to do so. After all, the siblings had never really managed to close the gap Margaret's marriage to Charles had cut between them and the duke couldn't help but feel guilty about it. Henry and Margaret had been close since childhood and had never been supposed to envy each other if not for him coming between them. He usually suppressed the thought, telling himself that Henry had after all approved of their marriage and that Margaret had practically urged him to it. Still, in his heart he knew that it was mostly his fault that things were as they were… and that his decisions had been a single bloody mistake.

"I guess Henry wants you back at court," Charles finally interrupted the uncomfortable silence, half expecting the sulky gaze Margaret threw at him. "You are his sister after all."

"How can I return while he flaunts himself with his slut?" she answered derisively, playing with the small knife meant for cutting the fruits. "I would be seen to be approving of his ridiculous liaison."

Charles sighed, somehow feeling annoyed that again the topic was all about that Boleyn girl. Was there really nothing more interesting in the entire kingdom than this pale wench?

"Margaret, you and I must stay in the king's good graces, or we are nothing. Let him marry who he wishes."

"That was always your philosophy, wasn't it, Charles?" she immediately shot back mockingly, obviously keen for an argument. "So very cynical. Is that why you keep company with that devil Boleyn?

Charles had to take a deep breath, not liking at all to be remembered of this. "You liked him enough once when he helped us back to court. Or were _you_ just being cynical?"

Margaret took her time to answer, taking a sip out of her cup and avoiding his eyes at the same time. "I didn't see all of his game. Now I do. I despise him."

"So do I!" Charles exclaimed, feeling that his nerves wore thin. By God, if he could just tell her how he really hated to assist that damn bootlicker of a man in getting closer to his king by denunciating Henry's trusted advisor and, most important, selling his daughter to him. "Still… it's a marriage of expedience." If only he could have believed his own words.

"Rather like ours?"

There were some seconds of uncomfortable silence between them when Charles was only staring guiltily at the table board as if there was some hidden meaning in the patterns of the dark wood. Then he slowly put his cup back to the table, reaching out for her hand.

"No. I loved you."

His words were a lie at heart and whether she believed him or not, she pulled back her hand, withdrawing from his touch.

"You don't know the meaning of the word, Charles," she whispered.

And as he only stared at her, she continued, her voice getting shakier as she spoke. "You can love, perhaps, for a year or a month, a day... even for an hour. And in that hour I do believe you love as well and deeply... as any man." For a moment she closed her eyes, visibly fighting to get her emotions under control, yet he could see the fresh tears blinking in her beautiful bluish green eyes when she opened them again.

"But after that hour, you love not! You love another… and then another. Your love... is most generous where it is most hurtful!"

"Margaret…" He doesn't know what to say to this, getting up from his chair to reach for her rather out of instinct than an actual idea what to do with her right now, but she backed off, turning around and hastened towards from the room, desperately trying to fight her tears.

"Don't play the fool, Charles…. it doesn't become you."

And then she was already gone while he still stared at the door, dumbfounded, before he let himself sink back to his chair, taking another swig of wine in frustration. A part of him wanted to follow her, but what could he have possibly say to her? Tell her some pretty lies that he had been true to her? Margaret was anything but stupid and of course, she must have seen the occasional love bites on his neck and shoulders or wondered who it was that made Charles not only spend days but also a lot of nights at court instead at their London townhouse. But until tonight, she had never openly accused him of being unfaithful to her. And probably he would have followed her anyway, telling her that he loved her and that he was sorry. But it would have been a lie, both of it, like so many before.

Finally he got up with a sigh, knowing that he should look after his upset wife, probably easing and then sleeping with her, but he didn't. Instead, his feet carried him to another chamber since he desperately longed for a distraction neither she nor anyone else but one man could provide to him.

He quietly knocked at the door and obviously, Henry had sent his groom away, since it was the familiar voice of his friend that called him in.

Henry was leaning at the head of the broad bed that was normally the ducal marital bed, after all, Charles' and Margaret's sleeping chamber was the biggest and most comfortable in the manor and therefore the one being prepared for the king's stay at Westhorpe Hall. He wore nothing but his silk robe, his chin resting on his hands as he watched Charles with visible mockery in his pale eyes that glittered in the light of the single big candle burning at the nightstand.

"Alas, Your Grace, I already thought you'd never show up. It's not nice to keep your king waiting, you know?"

It was an alluring image and normally, Charles would have acted upon Henry's challenge, teasing him back. But tonight all he could bring up was a weak smile. "Forgive me, Majesty."

Henry raised his eyebrows. "What's the matter, Charles?"

"It's nothing…" Charles said softly. "Just… don't tease me tonight, will you?"

His lover frowned a little but he didn't ask, just nodded and his voice was gentle as he beckoned him over.

"Come here…"

And Charles followed the sound of the familiar voice without thinking, loosing himself into Henry's embrace as he'd done so often before, knowing it would grant him a small escape from reality he needed so desperately.

Hours later, he returned to their own provisional chamber, sneaking through his own house like a thief in the night and feeling as guilty as if he was one. Margaret was already asleep and he crept as quietly as possible under the covers, hesitating for a moment, but then gently putting his arm around her waist, nestling closer to her. He thought he wouldn't be able to find sleep, yet as he closed his eyes, exhaustion seemed to wash over him like a heavy, numbing wave and he dozed off quickly.

When he woke again, it was still dark and quiet, but a little chill ran over his body. Trying to pull the blankets closer to his body, realisation slowly sank in that the side of the bed next to him was empty, the warm body of his wife missing. Sluggishly, he blinked a little into the moonlit chamber until he noticed the slender shadow standing at the window, pensively staring out into the park of the manor.

"Margaret, what is it?" Charles asked drowsily.

She quickly gazed in his directing, but then averted her eyes, looking out of the window again. "I couldn't sleep."

"Come back to bed. It's cold," Charles tried to convince her, but Margaret only shook her head.

"Not yet."

Charles sighed softly, sleepily wondering if she was still mad at him. He didn't want to argue with her even more, after all, this was the last night they'd spend together, unless she had changed her mind about accompanying Henry and him.

"Your brother and I are leaving for court tomorrow. Will you come? He has asked, again, for your presence."

"I told you. Not while he makes love in public to that Boleyn girl. It's offensive and it makes him look like a fool. Everyone else can see how... proud and grasping the Boleyns are. Why can't he?"

"What if he commands you to come?" Charles asked, and this time, it was Margaret's turn to sigh. However, she didn't answer his question but slowly returned to the bed and sat on the edge, wordlessly looking down at him. Her face was cast in shadow so that he could only guess her expression. And then, slowly, she reached out to gently run her fingers over his cheek, an affectionate caress he would have expected least of all after their argument.

"What is this?" he muttered in sleepy surprise.

"Only a wife to a husband," she whispered but did not stop to caress him. Charles' eyelids fell close, suddenly feeling far too heavy just as the rest of his body did. Her voice still reached his ears, but it seemed to come from far away now, not able to fully come through the thick blanket of sleepiness that he was wrapped into.

"Sleep now, my sweet Charles… I pray you, sleep."

The last thing he felt was the fleeting touch of her cool lips on his own, before he finally fell asleep again, drifting into sweet oblivion.

_It's not a silly little moment,  
It's not the storm before the calm.  
This is the deep and dying breath of  
This love that we've been working on._

_We're going down,  
And you can see it__, too.  
We're going down,  
And you know that we're doomed.  
__My dear, we're slow dancing in a burning room._

_~ John Mayer - Slow dancing in a burning room_


	9. IX Breathtaking

**Title:** Fortune's Favours  
**Pairing:** Charles Brandon / Henry Tudor  
**Rating: **M  
**Story Summary:** King Henry and his favorite duke get a little closer than best friends normally are, complicating matters even more than they are already. Covers season 1 & 2.  
**Disclaimer:** The Tudors belong to Showtime, I have absolutely no claim on the characters, the storyline etc.  
**A/N:** I know the Tudors are in many points not exactly what you'd call historically accurate, still, in this fanfiction I decided to go with the Showtime version to avoid confusions.  
Thanks to Narya for beta-reading, thanks to Bunnster for inspiration and thanks to all my great reviewers! Sorry it took me a while to update but I had two exams in June and so naturally I was a little distracted...  
Oh and I used a little extra stylistic device in this chapter, I hope someof you will notice! *is curious*

**Chapter Summary:** One stormy, fateful night that will change everything...  
**Chapter Warnings:** Explicit sex, slash, bondage, breath control (yeah I know, sounds a little kinky, but well, it's Henry after all...)****

_**IX**_

_**Breathtaking**_

It felt good for once to get away from the dim, stuffy halls and chambers of the palace and deeply inhale the fresh air of spring, good to hear the thundering of the horse's hooves on the green meadow instead of the constant cajoling of the courtiers Henry was so sick of. Out here, where no one else could hear him, he could finally vent his anger instead of always holding it back until he choked on it.

"I've been summoned to Rome. I have to appear before the Pope and answer for myself. Can you imagine it? Me?" Henry reined his horse which was uneasily prancing around due to the shouting of its rider. "The King of England, who answers to no authority but God! Damn Wolsey. Damn him to hell."

"May I speak plainly?" Anne asked calmly. She had only listened to him until now and when Henry looked at her, his anger ceased a little, as always. In her black and white riding dress together with the elegant feather hat she looked dashing, a young Amazon in a lady's dress. After their argument one week ago he had actually feared Anne would finally break up with him, but here she was back at court again, as adorable and smart as she had ever been. And, most importantly, she was still in love with him.

"Yes, of course," Henry only answered, trying to calm himself.

"There are some who on good authority care not for popes," she began to tell slowly, measuring his reaction. "These writers say that the king is both emperor and pope absolutely in his own kingdom."

"Which writers?"

For a moment, Anne seemed to ponder on something, before she answered, "I have a book to show you, with your permission."

Henry looked at her intrigued, not sure what to think about this. He had only told her to let out his frustration and show her that the divorce from Katherine and their marriage was still the most important thing on his mind. But he had definitely not expected her to come up with something that sounded... well, suspiciously heretic and interesting at the same time.

"Show it to me," he decided, urging on his horse again. He would just have to see for himself, though he had to admit that Anne had roused his interest.

Much later that day, when the sun had already sunk behind the horizon, he had discovered that his first thoughts had been indeed true. The author of "The Obedience of a Christian Man" was a certain William Tyndale and Henry was quite sure he had heard the Cardinal Wolsey calling a man with this name a condemnable heretic. And with every page he turned he got an idea why Wolsey despised the man so much, which put a grim smile to his face.

He was so preoccupied with the small book bound in simple brown leather that he almost flinched as one of his grooms entered the study. "Your Majesty, the Duke of Suffolk is here."

"Already?" Henry asked surprised, before his eyes flicked to the clock on the mantelpiece and he discovered that he had indeed spent two hours reading. He hadn't realised the time passing, but the long ride in the afternoon, Anne's company and this book had actually eased his wrath and brightened his mood a little. However, he still could do with more improvement.

With a smile, Henry weighed the small book in his hands before he deliberately put it back on the table.

"Send him in."

* * *

The book felt heavy in her hands and when she had finally managed to pull it from the shelf, Margaret had problems not to let it fall to the ground immediately. Her limbs felt weak and feeble as if they were filled with jelly, but even worse was the stinging burn in her chest that almost let the world before her eyes become black. Gasping for breath, she dragged herself to the chair next to window leading out to the dark gardens of the manor. Outside, a storm seemed to be approaching since she heard the wind speeding up and a low rumbling in the distance, like a quiet warning of what was to come. Margaret knew she should probably tell the domestics to prepare the manor and take care that all windows were shut, but felt unable to stand up again so soon. Tired, she felt so tired, yet she didn't want to go to sleep now, afraid that she might never wake up again.

She knew that the illness nagging at her was consumption, from the day she had first coughed blood which was some weeks ago now. Weeks in which she had tried to hide her disease from everyone, hoping and praying that it would pass. Of course, the maids had finally realized that their lady was not well, but she had forbidden to send any message about it to Charles. Even the doctor they had finally summoned had told her that she could do nothing more but rest and pray for her recovery. But with every day that passed, her chest hurt a little more, the coughing fits came longer and more often and she felt weaker and tired, always tired. Lately, she had lost her appetite and was often feverish, restlessly tossing and turning at night and waking up bathed in sweat or almost coughing her lungs out.

With a sigh, Margaret put the book aside, admitting that she was not in the mood for reading poetry right now. Her gaze strayed through the room and finally came to rest on the portrait of Charles and herself that hung on the opposite wall. It had been painted shortly after their return to court as a late wedding gift from Henry and showed a handsome young couple, very lifelike and with much love for the detail. Even Charles' Garter Badge was displayed, as well as his Tudor Rose ring that gleamed on his left hand which was entwined with hers while they were looking at each other lovingly.

Three years later, this painted couple existed no more. She had lost her beauty, fading away with a terrible disease that would take her life, but even before, more slowly and more creeping than the consumption raging in her body, they had lost their love. Margaret knew that Charles would still hurry to her side if he knew how terribly ill she was, but she wouldn't have been able to abide him being around her, pretending that he still loved her for her sake with a guilty expression in his eyes that would only make her feel worse. No, she wouldn't tell him, even if it meant that this painting was the last she'd ever see of him.

Charles proudly looked at her from the picture, his head held high and with that little smirk on his lips that was so characteristic for her husband. That smirk that had turned the heads of countless ladies at court, including her own.

She idly wondered if he had already visited the beds of others back then. Probably he had, but now it didn't matter anymore.

* * *

The tiny gemstones in the Tudor Rose Ring gleamed up in the firelight as Charles slowly shifted his weight, though he didn't lift his arm that had fallen down at the side of the luxurious bed as he had dozed off despite the constant rumbling of the thunderstorm outside. He looked younger when he slept, Henry thought, and so beautifully exposed that he couldn't help but ponder on what else he could do with him tonight. He knew it had to be late already and that he should probably wake Charles and send him back to his own bed, but he didn't feel like it yet. Instead, his gaze travelled from his handsome, relaxed face down the strong back, from time to time rising in slow breathing, and even further along the delicate curve of his buttocks and the muscular long legs. Trying to take in the proportions and bring them as lifelike as possible to the parchment on his knees, his hand followed the path of his eyes as he sketched his sleeping lover with a piece of charcoal. Too bad he couldn't catch the beautiful colour play of light and shadow on his bare skin or the gleaming of the thin layer of sweat on his back.

A bright flash from outside cast the handsome figure into harsh light for a moment, followed by a loud thunderclap that finally woke Charles up again, his grey eyes blinking sleepily into the firelight. But as he wanted to prop himself up his elbows, Henry interrupted him, gentle but determined, "No. Keep still."

With a soft groan, Charles obeyed, letting his head fall to the covers again but watching him a little confusedly. "What are you doing?"

"I'm drawing you," Henry simply replied without even averting his eyes from the parchment. Yet he was almost done, a few more shadows here and there and it was finished. Comparing the picture to the model with a last scrutinizing gaze, Henry felt quite pleased with himself and couldn't resist the urge to sign his drawing.

"Alright, I'm done."

"May I see it?" Charles asked curiously and Henry nodded, rose from the armchair he had been resting in and returned to the bed. While Charles looked at the picture, he sat beside him on the edge of the bed, gently caressing his neck and twirling a curl around his finger. Outside, the wind howled around the windows, making the luxurious warmth and cosiness of the bedchamber even more alluring.

"It's good," Charles finally said, giving the picture back to Henry and to his utter delight, the same discovered that his lover was actually blushing a little. "A pity no one can admire it but me, and you know my poor appreciation for art."

"Who said it should be for anyone's eyes except my own when I have to be satisfied with my hand instead of you?" Henry teased him, giving him a light, playful smack on the backside. "But speaking of what the King of England _can_ do... I read a quite interesting little book today. It states that a prince, since he is appointed by God himself, should have the right to rule his country in all matters, be them spiritual or secular and he who resists him resists God himself. According to the author, there is even no need for a pope anymore, since his power will be united with that of the king in one person alone." He stopped and grinned as Charles raised his eyebrows, looking doubtful. "That sounds heretical to you, darling duke?"

"At least... grand," Charles answered evasively, "but if I were you, I'd better not tell Wolsey about it."

Henry snorted and gave him a haughty glance, though he continued to stroke Charles' back. "In the end even he is supposed to be loyal to me and support my decisions if I wish it." His hand slightly cupped the nape of his lover's neck and he couldn't refrain from adding teasingly, "Like you are."

"I am yours, Majesty," Charles gently agreed, finally sitting up with a low groan. "Moreover, I don't serve another master but you, whereas Wolsey has proved that in case of doubt, he'll put the Church's interests above yours."

Henry reluctantly grumbled as an answer, being reminded of the fact that he was still angry with his cardinal because of his constant failure to provide his divorce for whatever reason. Fortunately, Charles didn't seem keen to keep talking about Wolsey, and a much more approving sound escaped Henry's throat when his lover leaned forward and started to nibble and lick his earlobe playfully.

"One question, if I may," Charles' low voice tingled deliciously in his ear, followed by a soft chuckle, "being the only one to judge worldly as well as religious matters... does that mean you could legalise sodomy?"

Henry had to laugh a little. "Don't be silly, Charles. Although..." a mischievous smirk spread on his lips as he allowed himself to indulge in this fantasy a little, "it's a fascinating idea, isn't it? Just imagine how interesting the council meetings would become... 'I'm afraid, Your Eminence, We feel unable to pay attention to your report due to the Duke of Suffolk's charms over there. If maybe Your Grace would be so kind to come over and suck Us off so we might proceed...'"

Charles grinned but then bowed his head in playful deference. "It shall be my pleasure and my greatest honour to serve you, Your Majesty." And with a teasing kiss on the jaw, he slowly slid down from the bed just to let himself deliberately sink to his knees between Henry's legs, never breaking the eye contact between them. Henry bit his lip. Christ, he had to admit he was unable to resist that man when he was so bloody seductively submissive on his own accord.

"Can you imagine their faces?" Charles whispered, pressing small kisses on Henry's thigh. "Do you think they'd watch? Or look away?"

Henry closed his eyes for an instant and took a deep breath, trying to picture the faces and expressions of the council members as Charles went so obediently to his knees and promptly started to tease the now almost painfully hard flesh between his thighs with his tongue.

"To be honest, I wouldn't give a fuck," Henry growled impatiently, "but I'd surely advise His Grace to better not prolong this and to take me into his hot mouth already. After all, we have a council meeting to finish."

"As you command." There was a mischievous gleam in the grey eyes as Charles lowered his head again, drawing a load groan form Henry's lips as he indeed began to suck him fiercely without any further delay. The young king felt his hips bucking on their own accord, slightly thrusting into that tantalizing wet heat, all of his senses screaming with pleasure. He was panting for breath as Charles all of a sudden stopped and looked up at him innocently.

"Does this suit Your Majesty?"

"It's acceptable," Henry managed to bring out, trying to sound as uninterested as possible and failing badly. But as Charles intended to go on, he grabbed his chin, keeping his head up for another moment.

"One thing, Your Grace..." A mocking smile played around Henry's lips as he whispered, "That tunic I wear was pretty expensive and I don't wish it to be spoiled, so don't you dare not swallow decently."

Charles gave Henry's entirely naked body a telling as well as quizzical look, but then he wordlessly lowered his head again and Henry's next moan could be heard even over the roar of the next thunderclap outside.

* * *

A loud, short thunderclap, like a cannon shot, disrupted the constant howling of the storm and made Margaret sit up vertically in the bed. It was a sudden move she instantly regretted as her chest began to burn like fire and another terribly painful coughing fit gripped and shook her entire body. Gagging and coughing, she desperately struggled for air, tasting the salty warmth of her own blood into her mouth and for a few seconds she was convinced that this was it, that her lungs were going to collapse right now. But after a few painful seconds she found herself able to breathe again, slow and stertorous, but still, though her chest was terribly burning, she felt fresh air streaming into her lungs. The white linen of the bed, however, was stained with ugly dark spots of blood, looking black as the next flash illuminated the bedchamber in an unnatural white light.

It was then when Margaret heard the screaming and whining of her son from the chamber at the opposite side of the floor. Henry had always been afraid of the loud roar of thunder and now that it sounded like the entire manor would collapse in the raging of the elements, he had to be in utter distress right now.

It took Margaret all her self-restraint not to jump up and run to her scared boy which would have doubtlessly sent her to the floor in another coughing fit again. Instead, she rose slowly and with lots of effort from the bed, and stumbled for the door as fast as she could dare, ducked and supporting herself on the wall. She was still painfully slow, her chest aching with every step, and when she opened the door to the corridor, the crying of her son had already stopped. Still, she dragged herself to his chamber, to find Henry whining softly in the arms of Lady Catherine who rocked the scared boy gently and stroke his hair.

"Is everything all right?" Margaret whispered, coming closer. Her voice sounded terribly raw.

"Yes, Your Grace," Catherine replied in the same manner. "He was just scared, that's all. But you should really be resting..."

"I am fine," Margaret lied, sitting next to her at the edge of the bed. "Catherine... let me hold and soothe him, I pray you..."

Catherine just nodded and passed the small boy over to her who sobbed and clung to his mother who just pulled him into her arms, stroking his hair.

"Can I do anything for you?" Catherine asked.

"No. Except... could you bring me something to drink, please?"

Catherine only nodded, her dark eyes clearly worried as she stood up and left the room. She had probably realized in what a desolate state Margaret was, she was quite a smart girl after all, though only counting sixteen summers. She was an orphan whose wardship had fallen to the crown when she was only thirteen and King Henry had passed it to Charles, in order for Margaret to have a female companion at Suffolk who was also of noble birth. The young dowager queen had really enjoyed the company of the girl and Henry adored her, though lately she had often thought of having her married and away from Westhorpe as soon as it was possible. Not that Catherine had displeased her in any way, but the shy orphan had become a very pretty, charming young woman over the last three years and Margaret had noticed how Charles looked at her when he thought she was not watching. If he hadn't already done more than just looking...

Margaret sighed inwardly while rocking and easing her scared son, whispering sweet little words to him and when she felt his breath calming, she gently put him back to bed again and tucked him in. Still the thunder was rumbling outside and the rain pattered against the windows, but the boy didn't seem to care anymore and even a tiny smile curled around his lips. It was one of those moments when he resembled his father so much that Margaret felt a wave of love overcoming her and slowly, she bent herself down to press a kiss on his forehead.

"Sleep now, my darling..."

* * *

"Don't close your eyes, darling duke..."

Lips teasingly caressed his temple, unusually gentle and Charles opened his eyes again, unable to elude Henry's demand. Yet it took him an effort to do so since he felt all vulnerable and exposed just from the closeness between them, their faces only inches apart, the slow intensity in each of Henry's movements and touches almost unbearable.

"Henry..." It was half a whisper, half a moan that came from his lips, his eyes desperately searching the ones of his lover, pleading him wordlessly to stop this slow torment that made his head spin. If he could at least touch his lover... But the smooth, yet tear-resistant leather straps that tied his wrists together and to the bedpost behind his head prevented him from doing so. Charles still wasn't used to being completely at Henry's mercy like this but since he knew how much his lover enjoyed it and he just couldn't say no to Henry...

"Shhh..." A thumb gently ran over his cheek and for a moment Henry stopped with his movements entirely, looking down at him with that barely visible smile curling around the corners of his mouth that Charles loved so much.

"God, I just love it when you look at me like that."

Charles could have told him something similar, yet when his lover grabbed his tied wrists again and continued with his lovemaking, every thought was washed away from his mind, pushing him back into that weightless, delicious state of flow. His eyes fell shut on their own when Henry buried his face in the curve of his neck, a gentle shiver running through his body as he whispered in his ear:

"You know what? Before the next council meeting, I'll have you exactly the way I do now... I guess it will have a most relaxing effect on both our tempers and besides..." he gently laughed into Charles' ear, lowering his voice to a dark mutter, "I'll just love the thought of you sitting opposite of me, feeling all sore and sticky while pretending to concentrate on foreign treaties and stuff..."

A breathless little laugh came over Charles' lips. "Ah, Henry... and I will love to watch _you _try to make important decisions for the sake of our...country while thinking about... me in your bed and being too... worn out to even speak!"

His boldness was rewarded with some harder thrusts as Henry raised his head again, glaring down at him. Yet Charles only smirked at him tantalizingly since he wanted to push him even further, pulling his lover closer with his legs.

"Come on... fuck me like a man, or are you worn out already?"

He could see by the dangerous glitter in the pale bluish green eyes that Henry felt challenged and his voice was just a bit too soft as he replied: "As you please, Your Grace..."

The next moment Charles felt one hand roughly grabbing his neck and choking while Henry slammed his hips against him. A choked gasp of surprise came over the duke's lips, instinctively struggling against the hard grip of his neck that did not allow him to breathe. His eyes widened in slight panic as he tried to free his hands, but the leather straps held them in place. Charles searched his friend's eyes, desperately begging to be released but Henry didn't loosen his grip, a well-known mixture of lust and triumph glittering in the pale eyes as he continued to roughly fuck and choke him at the same time. His vision grew faint and blurry, he heard nothing more than the rush of blood in his own ears while his body writhed and struggled due to ecstasy and the lack of air and for a painful, horrid moment he was convinced with utter certainty that he would die here, choked to death by his own lover's hands.

And then, just as Charles thought he'd pass out, Henry finally let go.

* * *

Catherine was just about to leave the kitchen with the flagon of thinned wine when a horrible, choking sound from the door made her almost drop the vessel. There in the door stood the young dowager queen like a ghost from a horrible nightmare, the long hair tousled, face pale, eyes wide in panic and blood spilling out of her mouth and staining her white undergarment. Catherine could only stare at her in horror as she stumbled forward, reaching in her direction like in a desperate attempt for help, before she lost her balance and fell hard to the cold stone floor, dragging a pot of milk with her that poured all over the floor. Margaret coughed painfully, wincing in obvious agony and more blood dropped from her lips, mingling with the white milk and somehow, that view ripped Catherine out of her freezing state. Casting the wine aside she hurried to the side of the other woman, carelessly knelt down beside her in the puddle of milk and blood and grabbed her shoulders, calling her name over and over again. But Margaret didn't react to her voice, and her body only jerked once or twice, her breath coming out in a last, rattling blow followed by another swell of blood before she finally became still.

* * *

With a desperate gasp, Charles felt the fresh air he needed so urgently streaming into his lungs, greedily sucking it in. A wave of relief washed over him as well as a sudden dizziness that made his head spin and both, together with Henry's hard thrusts, finally pushed him over the edge. With a soft outcry, he felt his own hips bucking without his doing, savouring and riding the wave of his climax and eventually he fell down to the mattress, feeling spent and utterly boneless, as if every bit of strength had suddenly decided to leave his body. Still the entire world seemed to be spinning and he needed time to come down from the heights of pleasure and mortal fear he had both just experienced a few moments ago. He vaguely noticed Henry's weight resting on his chest, his lover panting as hard as he did, but even if he could have raised a hand to touch him, Charles wasn't even sure if he had wanted to. Instead he idly stared at the ceiling and at the patterns of light and shadow as his heart raced in his chest and he still sucked in the air greedily. Despite not being able to think straight right now, he casually realized that the thunderstorm had ceased and only the rain was pattering against the windows in a calming, steady rhythm.

It was only then when Charles realized his entire body was shaking badly and he numbly wondered if ever before in his life he had felt that scared and alive at the same time.

_You saw her standing at the gateway _

_With her hands in the clouds  
But the higher she is moving _

_The more it gets you down  
And she's waiting in the afterglow _

_With her eyes somewhere else  
It's like she says: "Don't let it worry you"_

_Was it just a warning?_

_Someday you might awake  
And maybe all inside of you _

_Is not enough for what you take  
Was it just a warning?_

_Someday you might awake  
And maybe all inside of you, _

_Maybe you'll fail_

_~ Fool's Garden – The Tocsin~_


	10. X It's Nothing

**Title:** Fortune's Favours  
**Pairing:** Charles Brandon / Henry Tudor  
**Rating: **M  
**Story Summary:** King Henry and his favorite duke get a little closer than best friends normally are, complicating matters even more than they are already. Covers season 1 & 2.

**Disclaimer:** The Tudors belong to Showtime, I have absolutely no claim on the characters, the storyline etc.

**A/N:** I know the Tudors are in many points not exactly what you'd call historically accurate, still, in this fanfiction I decided to go with the Showtime version to avoid confusions.  
Thanks to **Narya** for beta-reading! And a priori apologies to **Bunnster** for including a sex scene with Anne Boleyn. *lol*  
The scene where Charles proposes to Catherine is actually a deleted scene from season 1 you can find on YouTube... and I always thought it was slightly odd... You can find it on YouTube, just type in "tudors deleted scenes 2" and pick the first entry. The scene is shown between 3.57 -5.35

**Chapter Summary:** Charles draws his conclusions from Margaret's death and makes a hard decision...  
**Chapter Warnings:** Explicit sex (het) and quite depressing, I think

_**X**_

_**It's Nothing**_

Nearly all his life, Charles had considered the royal court to be his true home. Maybe it had to do with the fact that Westhorpe and Suffolk had been his exile for half a year, but he had never really referred to it as home and had always been glad when he could turn his back on the peaceful, green countryside and return to the busy, grandiose palace at the river Thames. But now for the first he had time felt reluctant to leave the duchy where he had stayed for the previous two summer months behind in order to mourn his wife. He had spent plenty of time with his half-orphaned son, trying to make up for the loss of his mother, and had spent reams of hours thinking, roaming the countryside on horseback or sitting idly at one of the many places she had loved. And when he had finally made a decision, a message from Secretary Cromwell arrived that he was expected back for the next council session. No personal message from Henry, nothing, which made Charles assume he was still angry with him. Yet when he arrived, Norfolk told him secretly that the king was displeased and angry with everything at the moment, and Charles soon got an impression of it.

The hadn't seen each other for the previous weeks, not since the day Charles had had to tell him that Margaret was dead and Henry had glared at him for some painful moments and then stormed out of the chamber, pushing him aside and snapping that Charles had never told him that she was sick. And so the duke felt quite nervous when Henry finally entered the council chamber with long, determined steps, a frown on his face which clearly indicated that trouble was brewing. Yet the king didn't even look at him, but took place at the opposite site of the table.

"My lords..." Henry slowly began, rubbing his forehead and not even trying to hide his disdain. "Every day I'm forced to read new reports of dissatisfaction, confusion and delays throughout my kingdom. My exchequer is empty and we are borrowing money at a biting rate!" The cool, bluish green eye travelled along the row of people in front of him, examining each of them and Charles wasn't actually surprised that the king's gaze finally fell on him and Norfolk.

"Your Graces are presidents of this council. And yet I hear nothing from you on these matters, nor any other matter!"

Charles quickly glanced at Norfolk, but the other duke didn't seem eager to answer to Henry's accusation. So with a soft sigh, he began, "Your Majesty must forgive me, I…"

But he never got any further, since Henry interrupted him unceremoniously. "Yes, yes, I know I must forgive you, I must always forgive you." And then, all of a sudden, he jumped up from his chair, slammed his hands onto the table and leaned forward menacingly, making Charles flinch.

"But I grow tired of forgiving you! I have given you everything, including the right to call yourself prince! And what do I get in return?"

It was dead silent after Henry's outburst and Charles felt himself unable to hold his friend's gaze. The uneasy feeling in his stomach he had felt since he had arrived at court was now like a hot, painful lump, but fortunately Henry chose to direct his attention and his anger at the rest of the council members as well.

"I used to think the cardinal vain, self-serving and greedy, just as you told me! But now I understand the burden he carried... uncomplainingly!"

"Your Majesty should not forget that he also stole from you," Norfolk said in a calming tone, "and he served the interests of the French, even above those of England."

Henry stared at him for a moment and Charles couldn't help but think of a lion who prepared to leap forward. Then the king gazed over at Sir Thomas More. "Is that what you think, Thomas?"

"It is certainly true that the cardinal was vain glorious beyond measure," the addressed answered as objectively as it was possible. "It did him tremendous harm, and made him abuse the considerable gifts god gave him."

"And yet," Henry said sharply and straightened, "he was a better man than any of you for managing this kingdom's matters!"

No one answered to this and for a moment, Charles felt the gaze of the pale bluish green eyes again, burning hot on his face, before Henry turned and without any further word headed for the exit. The council rose from their chairs in deference, but he didn't turn to look back.

"I will talk to him," Norfolk muttered at his side.

"Yes, you must," Charles replied thoughtfully, adding in his head, _and so do I_. But it was not the disgraced cardinal he wanted to speak about. The entire conspiracy had been Norfolk's plotting after all, and Charles had played the role in his downfall he had agreed to. So worrying about a possible and in his opinion very unlikely return of the cardinal was also Norfolk's business as well.

Besides, if things went bad, he wouldn't have to worry about the cardinal and his possible revenge anyway, since he'd find himself faster in the Tower than he could even think.

* * *

He got a private audience with Henry the same day in the evening and as usual, his friend received him in his study, standing at the window and staring pensively outside when Charles entered. The last days had been bright and hot but in the afternoon, dark clouds had arrived and now it was pouring, the rain running down the windows in little streams and gathering in the courtyard in deep puddles. It reminded Charles involuntary of their last night together during the thunderstorm, the same night when Margaret had coughed out her final breath on the kitchen floor in Westhorpe Hall.

"Your Majesty..."

"Your Grace." Henry's voice sounded quite indifferent and as he still didn't turn, Charles couldn't see the look on his face. "You wanted to see me."

"Yes, Majesty."

"And where does this sudden need come from," Henry asked, his voice still low but with a dangerous tension in it, "since you obviously didn't bother for the last two months?"

He finally turned, arms crossed in front of his chest, and scrutinized Charles. "I would like to know that very much."

Charles swallowed hard, asking himself how he should ever do this with Henry being so irritated and angry even before he had told him what he was here for.

"After the funeral I didn't feel much like court life and I had a lot to think about, Majesty. Besides, I thought you were angry with me and wouldn't like having me around anyway."

"Of course I would have liked you around!" Henry exclaimed, throwing his arms into the air. "You're my best friend and you're not the only one who lost her, goddamn! But you just left court without even saying goodbye and chose to hide away in Suffolk, leaving me here with the mess that is my kingdom!" And as Charles opened his mouth to speak, he cut in, "And now don't tell me again that you're sorry. I meant what said today in council, I'm sick and tired of hearing it while you still refuse to feel responsible for anything." His fist randomly hit the side of a shelf with a low thud as he rounded the table, slowly approaching Charles. "By God, you can't imagine how much I wish now I had moved heaven and earth for a second time to get an annulment of your marriage then. She would have been at court then and maybe my doctors could have helped her, maybe..."

"I know," Charles whispered, the lump from his stomach now seeming to stuck in his throat. "She would have lived, if not for me. If not for us, to be exact."

"What?" Henry slowly raised his head, a dangerous gleam in his eyes. "What do I have to do with that?"

"Isn't that quite obvious?" Charles replied softly. "The one woman who is both most precious to you and to me dies all of a sudden, in the bloom of her life... don't you think it is a sign, Majesty? A warning or maybe also a punishment for our sins?" And as Henry only stared at him, his features unmoving, he continued. "You said I'd never take responsibility for anything and you have been right. But Majesty, I promise, I can change and I will change. And as a first step, so you know this is no empty promise as I made so many of them before..." he took a deep breath, closing his eyes for only a moment, hating his next words even before he spoke them, "I want to end it, Henry."

There was utter silence for a moment, except for the pattering of the rain against the window glass. Henry still showed no sign of any emotion and just looked at him before he asked in a flat voice, "End what?"

"You know what. Laying together like a man should only with a woman due to Christian Law..." Charles shook his head, wondering when he had begun to sound like a damn priest himself. "It would be better for both our sakes..."

"For my sake?" Henry laughed but it was an utterly humourless sound. "Since when do you know what's best for the King of England, I wonder? And talking about that, _how the fuck do you think you have the right to dump him?"_

"Majesty, please, I..." Charles tried to explain, but again, Henry interrupted him brutally, grabbing the front of his tunic and yelling at him in utter fury for the second time on this day.

"You dare leaving me here for two entire months just to come back and tell me _this_? Who the hell do you think you are, Brandon? You were a fucking nobody whom I gave everything and this is my reward for it, 'I want to end it'?" Bristling with anger, he pushed him away, pacing through his study with large, angry steps. "In case you've forgotten, I'm not one of your bitches you can fuck and drop to your liking, I'm the fucking King of England! And if it pleases me, I can just command you to come to my bed! "

"Will you at least give me the chance to explain myself?" Charles asked as calmly as possible, though he heard his own voice shaking badly. "Henry, I pray you..."

"I'm not sure if I want to hear anything more of you right now," Henry hissed, his face turned away from him, fists clenched, "but very well then. Explain."

Taking another deep breath, Charles tried to brace himself, his eyes fixed on the lean, dark silhouette in front of the window when he softly began to speak, "I'm afraid, Henry. It's been three years now, three years we indulged in terrible sin without any honest thought of repentance or guilt. In those three years we both lost Margaret and the sweating sickness befell the entire country, taking away our dear friend William, as well as your only son. Who will be next, I wonder? My son? Or maybe Anne, your future wife? Your future heirs? Are our sins really worth such a price? "

Charles paused but Henry didn't answer and only stared out of the window without any movement or sound, and acting out of an impulse Charles slowly approached him and then went down to his knees at his feet, gently reaching for Henry's hand and placing a kiss on the knuckles which showed all white since his friend was still clenching his fist so hard. Charles half expected to be dealt a blow, but Henry only looked down at him with an unreadable expression.

"Henry..." Charles whispered, Henry's hand still at his lips and never breaking the eye contact between them, not even to blink. "I want you to know that I still desire you with all my heart, so much that it even pains me to speak these words. Know that I still devote myself only to you, my lord and my king, and that I love you as much as ever a true friend did. Never, for my life, I would not wish to hurt you or let you down, but it is because I love you too much and I don't want more harm to come to you, that I must ask you for this..." He had to clear his throat to continue since he could hear by the sound of it that it became unsteady and shaky. "Please, Henry, let me go. You have Anne and you can have many others to fill that place while I will always remain your most faithful servant and loving friend..."

Charles had to stop because he feared that his voice would break if he said more, besides, he didn't even knew what to say more. He felt empty and worn out, hating himself for everything that he had said and even hating himself more for the fact that it was only one part of the truth. Yes, he was scared that all the deaths were the punishment for their continued sinning, but one tiny part of him was also scared of their forbidden relationship itself, or rather the way he felt himself dragged down into a deep and devouring maelstrom of conflicting emotions, between pain and pleasure, fear and love, revolt and devotion...

A gentle hand touched his cheek, yet he almost flinched since the touch came too unexpectedly. The thumb traced his cheekbone caressingly, before Henry pulled his hand back and beckoned him to rise. The angry flare in his eyes had ceased but it was hard to interpret the look on his face as he slowly nodded.

"Have it as you wish then."

"Majesty," Charles whispered, bowing deeply before he turned and headed for the door, knowing without having to be told that Henry probably wanted to be by himself now. The more he was surprised when a gentle voice called him back.

"Charles..."

"Majesty?"

Henry stood still were he had left him, his arms wrapped around his own body, which made him seem younger and somehow looking lost. If his own words hadn't done the trick before, the sight alone would have been enough to break Charles' heart. Henry opened his mouth, but then he hesitated, shaking his head and turning back to face the window.

"Nothing."

For a few moments Charles still waited, wondering if Henry might change his mind and feeling unable to just leave him, but as his friend didn't move, he quietly left, closing the door behind him and slowly walking away. His body felt numb and not like his own, as if every feeling had been drained out of it, leaving nothing more but an empty shell. But if life at court had taught him one thing, then it was to mask his own feelings, to put up a daily façade for everyone to see how happy and pleased with himself and the world he was.

The tears only came much, much later that night.

* * *

It was shortly after noon when Catherine decided she badly needed some time for herself and a little distraction. Henry was taking his afternoon nap, after having been weepy and fretful the entire morning. But she couldn't blame him, after all, it had been quite a shock for the young boy to learn that his mother would never come back to him again. It had taken weeks to make him smile again, and now that his father had left for the royal court some days ago, Henry feared that he would also leave him and never come back. Of course Catherine had assured him that Charles would return in due time, but to see the usually so bright child all terrified of being left alone hurt nevertheless.

Going through the books of the study, she had picked out _Roman de la Rose _and had just sat down at the desk next to the window when she heard a familiar, deep voice behind her.

"Catherine..."

Taken aback, she hurried to rise from her chair, curtsying respectfully. She hadn't known that the duke was already back from court, but there he stood, slightly leaning against a book shelf with that pensive look on his handsome features he had worn for the last few weeks.

"Your Grace."

He smiled at her friendly, though the smile didn't reach his eyes. Catherine was wondering what he could possibly want from her, after all, he had been quite uncommunicative for those last weeks, only saying the most necessary things with his thoughts obviously revolving around something entirely different. When she looked at him questioningly, he picked up a book from the shelf, idly skimming through the pages, as if he had to keep his hands busy.

"As my ward, I have the legal duty to look after you," he finally began matter-of-factly. "Your parents are dead... and I have decided to marry you."

Catherine thought she must have misheard, but he already continued speaking before she had the chance to say anything, "You'll become a duchess and you'll have much power for someone so young. I think you are already an intelligent young woman..."

"I..." she tried again to say something, but again, he didn't give her the chance.

"You don't need to say anything. I am making you a great woman. You will look after my young son and when we have children, the king will be their godfather."

Catherine felt as if someone had pulled the rug from under her when she stared at the duke who still smiled at her, but somehow she felt the urge to take a step back. Charles Brandon had always been friendly and had sometimes bantered with her, but he was away from his estates so often that he was still somehow a stranger for her. Of course she had sometimes felt flattered by his charming nature, but as soon as she had realized that it utterly annoyed Margaret, she had tried to stay away from him for peace's sake. And most definitely, she had never imagined to marry him one day, didn't even know if she wanted to. But obviously, her opinion was not of any importance in this matter.

Catherine was still only staring at him when he walked over towards her, lightly placing a hand on her shoulder and she noticed absent-mindedly that he looked a little worn out, as if he hadn't slept enough the last few days. "I hope to make you very happy..." he declared in a serious voice, "but inevitably, I'll also make you sad."

While she still tried to figure out what that was supposed to mean, he had already leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss on her forehead. He gave her a smile that was somewhere between kind and guilty und when she still didn't know what to say or if she was supposed to say anything at all, he just turned and walked out of the study, leaving behind a confused Catherine who could make no sense at all of this. So this was a proposal from Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk and infamous for his charm that made all the ladies' knees at court turn weak? He could have told her in the same tone that he wanted her to look after Henry for a few days.

With a sigh, Catherine let herself sink back into the chair, wondering why she didn't feel angry, just scared and confused. Of course, he was right, it was a great opportunity for her, an orphan girl without any acquaintances or connections. The duke was a really handsome young man, powerful as well and of course he needed a new wife and someone to look after his son. Catherine loved Henry, so who would have been more suitable than her? Many other noble women would have envied her, and she knew she couldn't expect her marriage to be a romantic love match, still...

Catherine sighed. No matter how hard she tried to convince herself, she couldn't forget the hint of a hidden sadness in his grey eyes that he had tried to hide behind the smiling face. The thought sent a creeping feeling of unease through her body, for she knew well, no matter how beneficial a marriage was for both of them, she would still be a substitute.

Only that she didn't know for what exactly.

* * *

Thick white mist lay over the fields and crept through the wood, sucking in every sound and shielding them from the world's eyes as they finally slowed their horses down, leading them deep into the forest. They didn't even look at each other, didn't speak, it was unnecessary. They had waited too long and they both knew it, yet now that Anne was about to give Henry what he had so long desired from her, suddenly a shadow of doubt came over her mind. After all, their marriage seemed to be farther away than ever, but on the other hand, Wolsey was finally out of the way and dead, her charge done. After years of waiting and delaying, shouldn't she for once be able to follow her own desire? And even if she wanted to withdraw her offer now – which she didn't – she wasn't sure if Henry, despite of his affection for her, would have accepted it. The fierce determination in his pale eyes which pierced hers for a moment, the barely restrained impatience in all of his movements when he wordlessly reined his horse and dismounted, told her otherwise. Yet she tried not to let her doubts and the sudden feeling of insecurity be shown on her face. Instead, she replied his gaze self-confidently and followed him a little deeper into the woods, carelessly throwing her feather head and the black riding gloves aside as he did with his fur coat. And then there was no time to think anymore, just his lips claiming hers in a fervent kiss, his hands running impatiently under the cloth of her riding dress and she clutched at him with matching eagerness, her back pressed against the chapped bark of a tress but she didn't even realized it.

_Finally, finally…_

"I want you…." he whispered huskily, but all Anne did was pull him into their passionate kiss again. They were all over each other in no time, didn't even take the time to undress each other properly. It was ridiculous that they had waited so long and now couldn't spend a few more minutes, but it seemed like all anger and all frustration of the previous weeks, months, years seemed to overwhelm into blinding passion now. Their bodies melted into each other as if they were made for it, the fierce sensations making them both moan and cry out in pleasure. A sudden rush of power which only added to the carnal pleasure overwhelmed Anne as she was sitting on him, riding him fiercely and for a fleeting moment the sheer thought that this man, the King of England, belonged to her and to her alone, almost made her laugh out loud breathlessly. But in that moment Henry grabbed her hips and turned their positions, pushing her onto her back and the thought was swept away by a wave of sheer, red-hot lust. Her own moans echoed in her ears as she felt the familiar tension building up inside her and her hips were meeting each of his thrusts on their own accord.

"I'm going to come…" she heard Henry moaning into her ear, and it was these words that brought her from the heights of pleasure suddenly back to reality, like an icy gush of water.

"No! You mustn't!"

And with all force she could bring up she desperately pushed against Henry's chest, the only thought racing in her mind that he couldn't come in her, not yet, not before she was still only his mistress and not his legal wife… And she didn't know if it was due to Henry's surprise or the desperate fierceness of her push but she felt his weight leaving her body, a strange feeling of relief and utter disappointment rushing through her entire body at the same time. Anne heard him panting and then crying out in utter frustration next to her, but she didn't dare to look at him now. Not now, when her own body was still shaking in a mix of arousal and the sudden realization slowly crept in how easily this could have turned into a catastrophe for all her plans. If she hadn't pushed him down or waited just a few moments longer, if she had conceived a bastard child…

Anne heard him jumping to his feet and storming off, again crying out his wrath into the silent, misty forest while she understood that this could easily turn out to be a catastrophe as well. Her father's words – _maybe you could find a way to keep his interest more… prolonged?_ – were echoing mockingly in her ears and she fiercely ran a hand through her hair, panicking if this was it. She had given in to Henry's wish before she had achieved what she desired and now that she had made him angry, he might drop her like he had done with so many young women before. But he wouldn't, not with her…or would he?

"Come on! We're riding back," she heard him shouting from over the trees where they had left their horses. Anne hurried to get onto her feet, trying to rearrange her riding outfit as fast as it was possible and then returning back to the horses as well, picking up her feather hat and one of her riding gloves on the way. She couldn't find the other one, but since Henry had already mounted his horse, a scowling expression on his face, she decided better not to strain his patience anymore. Still, she stopped for a moment before she mounted her horse, looking up at him, opening her mouth to say something pacifying, but he raised his hand, bidding her silence before she managed to do so.

"You don't need to say anything," he growled but with an undertone that made her relax a little and she pulled herself back into the saddle as well. "It's not you, it's just…"

"It's just what?" she wanted to know, but Henry shook his head and she saw him closing his eyes for a moment. A small, bitter laugh came over his lips that Anne could not for the world make sense of.

"Nothing. It's… really nothing."

And before she had the chance to ask any further questions he had urged his horse to a slow trot and Anne had no other chance but to follow.

_Can you lie next to her and give her your heart, your heart?_

_As well as your body, and can you lie next to her_

_And confess your love, your love?_

_As well as your folly, and can you kneel before the king _

_And say 'I'm clean', 'I'm clean'?_

_But tell me now where was my fault,_

_in loving you with my whole heart?_

_But tell me now where was my fault,_

_in loving you with my whole heart?_

_~Mumford & Sons - White Blank Page ~_


	11. XI She's Dangerous

**Title:** Fortune's Favours  
**Pairing:** Charles Brandon / Henry Tudor  
**Rating: **M  
**Story Summary:** King Henry and his favorite duke get a little closer than best friends normally are, complicating matters even more than they are already. Covers season 1 & 2.

**Disclaimer:** The Tudors belong to Showtime, I have absolutely no claim on the characters, the storyline etc.

**A/N:** I know the Tudors are in many points not exactly what you'd call historically accurate, still, in this fanfiction I decided to go with the Showtime version to avoid confusions.

Obligatory thanks to **Narya **for beta-reading and to **Bunnster** for inspiration and keeping me writing.

**Chapter Summary:** Charles tries to warn Henry about Anne Boleyn and gets himself into trouble.  
**Chapter Warnings:** Really, none.

_**XI**_

_**She's dangerous**_

Christmas had always been Henry's favourite time of the year. Since his boyhood, he had enjoyed the lavish celebrations at court lasting for twelve days with a lot of dancing and feasting as well as jousts and amusing plays or other performances to spend the holidays with. Everyone who was of any importance in the kingdom was invited to court, the ladies all dressed in new colourful gowns, wearing glittering jewellery and floral wreaths and all being eager to have a kiss stolen under the kissing bough. But this year, Henry thought the celebrations were more perfect than ever, with Katherine having left court and Anne sitting on a seat to his right during the presentation of gifts. She looked all queenly and beautiful in her deep crimson dress and when she occasionally reached for his hand, gently squeezing it and giving him a secretive little smile from the side, Henry could just have pulled her onto his lap and smooched her all over.

"Your Majesty, the Duke and the Duchess of Suffolk!" the groom announced and Henry tore his eyes away from her sight to smile at Charles and his wife, who were also quite something to look at. Catherine Brandon was a pretty little thing with intelligent features and rather cute snub nose, and despite her youth she radiated a noticeable amount of self-assurance and dignity. In any other situation Henry would surely have had his eyes on her, but now he only felt a slight feeling of envy seeing her walking so naturally and close to her newly wedded husband who looked especially dashing, dressed in a black doublet and black breeches with a sash embroidered with red and gold over his left shoulder. Henry knew it had been a marriage of expedience at first, but the last time he had talked to Charles about it, his friend had sounded quite different. He had wondered whether Charles was only trying to delude himself, nevertheless, a part of him had strongly disliked the fond glitter in the grey eyes while Charles had prattled something about this time being different and a marriage between two souls. Henry bet it would only be a matter of time until Charles started cheating on her like he had done with everyone else before, including him.

"Your Graces," Henry nevertheless greeted them warmly. "Welcome back at court, and happy Christmas to both of you!"

"A happy Christmas to you, Majesty. Mistress Anne." Charles' last words were clearly a little more reserved, but he almost instantly turned back to Henry and smiled. "We have a seasonal gift for you, with Your Majesty's permission."

Henry nodded curiously and watched as a servant opened a small box with a solid golden goblet in it. Engraved in the metal was the image of some huge lions, each with a crane standing on its back, spreading its wings. It was a beautiful work and it must have cost Charles a little fortune.

"Thank you, it's beautiful," Henry said with an approving smile. "Your Grace knows indeed how to please me."

He did not doubt that Charles understood the little ambiguity, still, the duke chose not to react to it but only smiled his contagious smile. In a wave of sudden affection, Henry stood up and pulled him into a firm embrace that was supposed to be brotherly, except for the fact that for an instant, he felt quite reluctant to let go of Charles again.

"Game of tennis?"

"Good idea," Charles replied and then hesitated for a short moment, a more serious expression crossing his face. "May I have a word with you later?"

Henry nodded, a little surprised, but he didn't ask any further, especially since there were still a dozen other nobles waiting at the door with their Christmas gifts. Still, Charles' request for a word in private with him wouldn't leave his head and so, after finally the present ceremony was over, he stepped out into the lavishly decorated hall where the court was gathering, men and women in beautiful festive clothes chatting and laughing merrily while someone was playing a slow song on the flute. Henry let his gaze wander through the room and discovered Charles and Catherine at the window, talking with William Fitzalan, the Earl of Arundel and his wife. Henry beckoned him over and when Charles immediately joined his side, he asked, "You wanted a word with me?"

Charles only nodded, quickly glancing around and then he lightly placed a hand on Henry's back, "May I speak with you honestly?"

"I hope so," Henry replied warily.

Charles hesitated a little, but then asked outright, though in a much lower voice, "Are you really going to marry Mistress Boleyn? Whatever the consequences, whatever her… history?"

_Oh no, not you as well, _Henry had almost said out loud, his joyous mood vanishing in an instant. Sighing, he grabbed Charles' arm and pulled him to a nearby corner and away from all kinds of curious ears. He had a very good idea what his friend and former lover would come up with, but he was surprised that he had the guts to tell him.

"Why do you ask, Charles? What do you mean, 'whatever her history?'"

"I have it on very good authority that she and Thomas Wyatt were once lovers. Apparently she fornicated with him on many occasions, sometimes brazenly entering his chambers at night."

Henry nodded slowly, not surprised at all, yet his eyes involuntarily searched for the young poet who had come to court only some weeks before. There were a lot of rumours about Anne popping up in the last months, the story with Wyatt being only one of them, but unfortunately, not everyone at court seemed to be happy with their soon-to-be queen. "I've heard those rumours. She denies it."

"Well, she would, wouldn't she?" But the small laughter died in Charles' throat when Henry forcefully grabbed the front of his doublet, pulling him closer until their faces where only inches apart

"I said she denies it!" he hissed, glaring at Charles whose eyes were widened in shock and surprise about his fierce reaction. But Henry was so sick of hearing rumours about Anne and that Charles, Charles of all people thought that he had to play the moralizer and warn him about the wantonness of his lover… If Henry hadn't been so angry, he would have probably laughed about it loudly, but as it was he only glared at Charles for a few more seconds before he suddenly let go of him and turned, heading into the crowd. He didn't turn to look at Charles; still, the mood of the festive morning was ruined for him now.

He tried to put up a good façade, being friendly and generous to everyone, but still, the short discussion was gnawing at him. Yet when he returned to Anne, she needed only a few moments to realize that something was wrong and suggested a walk through the gardens to clear the head. Henry gladly agreed and so, only a few hours later they were strolling along the frosty white ground beside the frozen lake, both wrapped up in thick fur coats. The air was ice cold and their breath came off in white clouds, but to get away from all the people and especially Charles for a while helped Henry to ease his mind a little and he could blatantly vent his anger without thinking too much about it.

"So the Duke of Suffolk has obviously taken it upon himself to repeat the gossip about you and Mr. Wyatt," he snorted, an arm wrapped possessively around Anne's shoulders. Her long, raven hair was welling out beneath her light fur cap and she mildly raised her slender eyebrows at his comment.

"And do you believe any of it to be true?"

"If I did, would I be walking here with you?" Henry replied firmly, turning towards her and letting his hands slip under her coat to let them rest on her sides. A small smile played on her lips before she slightly leaned forward to kiss him, a slow and seductive kiss that made Henry's loins tingle. God, was there ever a woman walking this earth who was as enticing and beautiful as this wonderful creature in front of him?

"I must admit, I'm not surprised after I saw the goblet he presented you this morning, the one with the lions and the cranes," Anne stated when they finally parted, hesitated for a moment and then added, "I suppose you've banished the duke from court?"

The question caught Henry off guard because actually, he hadn't, nor had he thought much about any symbolic meaning of Charles present by now. But Anne seemed to have had a much shaper eye than he had. The lion had of course always been a symbol for the king of England, but in traditional heraldry, a crane stood for caution and watchfulness. He hadn't seen it that way up to now, but she was probably right… as well as with her suggestion of a banishment. He didn't like to send Charles away from court, on the other hand, he had to begin taking rigorous steps against all those who gossiped behind Anne's back if he ever wanted her to be loved and accepted by the court and the people. So he just smiled at her, taking a mental note to talk to Secretary Cromwell later on. If Charles had decided that he would like to learn the hard way that he'd better respect his new queen, well, he could have that.

For now, he just smiled at Anne, switching over to another topic that was less problematic. "I've asked the French ambassador to come and see me…"

Continuing their walk through the park, he told her about the planned meeting between himself and King Francis, to set up a new treaty on the one hand and to present her as the future Queen of England on the other. She listened to him in utter disbelief, her beautiful eyes growing wider with every word he said and when he had finished, she even slumped to her knees on the frozen ground, her small hand clutching his desperately. Henry's heart swelled with love when he looked down at her, smiling. And when the overwhelmed look on her face finally gave way to a sweet, disbelieving smile he was utterly convinced that no one would ever possess his heart like Anne Boleyn did.

And Charles Brandon better had to learn that quickly.

"And so Sir Lancelot and Queen Guinevere fell in love with each other, though she tried to keep him away from her at first. Yet eventually, her love and passion overpowered her and finally, they became secret lovers. But alas, trouble was brewing already, for some knights of the Round Table were already suspicious about them!"

Henry's lips formed a little 'O', and his already huge eyes even grew a littler wider. Catherine had to smile, though the child certainly didn't understand everything, he was a clever boy and he loved all kinds of tales. "One night, Sir Agravain, Sir Mordred and twelve other knights came to Guinevere's chamber where they discovered the two lovers. Sir Lancelot made a fighting escape, but poor Guinevere was not so lucky. She was seized and judged to burn to death for being unfaithful to the king, her husband." Henry looked a little anxious, but Catherine gave him a reassuring smile. "Fear not, Henry. Sir Lancelot returned several days later to rescue his beloved Guinevere from the fire."

"Was Guinevere as beautiful as our queen?" the boy asked intrigued and Catherine was just about to answer, when suddenly she was interrupted.

"If by 'queen' you mean that pale wench who currently flaunts herself with our king, boy, then I guess Guinevere was a lot more appealing." Catherine didn't know how long Charles had been standing at the door watching them, but now he entered the room with long, angry strides, letting himself fall into a chair and reaching for the flagon of wine. "Though I must admit, they have a lot in common, being both shameless whores, for example."

Catherine breathed in sharply, disliking the language he used in front of the child, but she also didn't want to criticize him when Henry was present, especially not since Charles' grey eyes were flashing with anger and he had that peculiar little smile on his lips he always had when trying to suppress an utter outburst. So she only turned to Henry, who confusedly watched his father pouring himself an entire cup of wine and draining it with one gulp.

"Darling, I think you should go to your nurse now, your father needs some rest." Though he looked a little disappointed, Henry nodded and scampered away. When they were finally alone, Catherine turned back to Charles.

"Will you tell me what has happened?" she asked, her voice as calm as it was possible.

"Oh, not much. Except that I am banished from court and we have to leave at once," Charles snorted, letting his head sink back to the rest of the chair. "Somehow this situation seems familiar to me…"

"Banished?" Catherine asked, shocked for a moment. "For what you said to him about Anne Boleyn…?"  
"Actually, I don't even know," replied, still with that disturbing little smile around his lips, "because the only thing the king's dear secretary would tell me was that 'it seems I have displeased the king'. He wasn't willing to elaborate further."

"And can't you get an audience with the king to explain everything to him?" Catherine suggested, gracefully standing up and moving behind Charles to give his tense shoulders one light, calming squeeze. He seemed to relax a little and closed his eyes, but then slowly shook his head.

"No. The king has given his order and I must obey. To ask for an audience now would seem like defiance… and besides, I wouldn't know what I should tell him. I've tried to warn him and told him honestly that I have doubts concerning his marriage and in return he obviously chose to banish me." A small, utterly humourless laugh came over his lips. "I _could_ write him a letter, of course, but to be honest, I don't see the point of begging his forgiveness for something I don't even regret."

"Very well. But what are you going to do then, dearest husband?"

Charles shrugged. "What I have to do, I suppose. Leave court and wait for Henry to rethink his rash judgement and change his mind."

"And when will that be?"

"Who knows? Maybe tomorrow, maybe in a month or in a year. Who can say what goes on in the king's mind? I thought I knew it once… but those were times when he also would have listened to me if I told him one of the girls he messed around with was a whore." He looked up at her and there was some tormented expression in his eyes that filled Catherine's heart with a warm wave of sympathy and affection. Gently she ran a hand through his hair and then down to his stubbly cheek and Charles reached for her hand and held it there, entwining their fingers to sigh softly.

Only a year ago, Catherine could not have imaged to stand here like this, caressing and consoling her former warden, one of the mightiest peers in the entire kingdom. But to her own surprise, once they were married, Charles had willingly showed her the man behind the title, a man she found hard not to love. He was gentle, attentive, interested in her opinions and had eventually courted her affectionately, introducing her to the many pleasures of the marital bed with much patience. And the more unease Catherine had felt about their marriage at first, the happier she was now about Charles' decision some months ago.

"He will forgive you, he always did," she whispered now, reassuringly. "You are his best friend, aren't you? He will miss you in no time, it's probably just because that woman has charmed him out of his mind that he thinks you begrudge him his doubtful luck or something like that..."

"Begrudge him?" His clear, grey eyes found hers, in such an intense gaze that it sent shivers down her spine. "Why should I begrudge him when here I have such a jewel of womanhood who is not only far more beautiful than his whore," he gently took her hand, guiding her around the chair and then pulling her on his lap, "but also much wiser, gentler and more virtuous?"

Catherine laughed at his words and gently tugged at his brown curls. "You're a charmer, as always, sweet Charles."

"And you're just the perfect cure for my sour mood, my beautiful wife," he replied in a low voice, which was just an octave deeper than normal and made a delicious shiver run down Catherine's spine. His hands searched the seam of her skirt and slowly, the silk slid upwards, revealing her bare skin while his lips traced the curve of her neck. "I guess 'leave at once' yet includes some time for adequate preparations..."

A soft moan escaped Catherine's lips and as always she felt herself unable to resist her husband's arts of seduction. Yet they quickly let go of each other when there were suddenly voices in the adjoining chamber, one of a man and one of Mary, Catherine's waiting maid. Catherine looked at Charles questioningly, but he only shook his head and growled slightly. "I'll handle it. You can go into our bedchamber meanwhile and I'll join you in a minute."

"Whatever it is, don't get upset," Catherine muttered, getting up, placing a light kiss on his lips. "I'll wait for you next door."

She crossed the room, yet hesitated a moment at the door to see a man in the royal livery entering, holding a little box in his hands and bowing formally to Charles. Yet she didn't wait what he had to say but closed the doors so that she could only hear mumbles from the adjoining room. Her heart was fluttering in her chest as she reached for the laces of her dress, carefully undoing it and putting it aside. She wondered if it was really a good idea to indulge in lovemaking when having received an order to leave court immediately, however, she was not interested in arguing with Charles about that. Moreover, some carnal action would probably ease her husband's fiery temper and prevent him from doing anything stupid. And so she stretched out on the bed, wearing nothing more than her undergarment and waiting for Charles to follow her.

When he finally entered the chamber she immediately realized that something else must have happened. His lips were a narrow line and the wrath she had so carefully smoothed before was once again burning brightly in his eyes, the strong hands clenched to fists as he walked over to her with large, angry steps.

"What is it, sweetheart?" Catherine asked worriedly, yet he only shook his mind and sat down beside her on the bed, cupping her face with both his hands and drawing her into a fierce, angry kiss that made her mind spin. There was almost nothing of his usual gentleness, just hardly suppressed fury and disappointment, but when they finally parted and he looked at her, his eyes were soft again.

"You know what, my love? Right now I can't wait to exchange this court full of lying, selfish creatures and bootlickers for your company alone..."

"I'm yours, Charles," Catherine only whispered as a reply and he kissed her again, gently pushing her onto her back and she felt how his anger dissolved into blinding hot passion, which she gave in to willingly.

Outside of the palace, deep down on the ground, a golden goblet with a skilful engraving lay in the snow only to be found by one of the Privy Chamber's grooms later, who wondered why and by whom such a precious treasure had been cast away so carelessly.

* * *

The merry tunes of the dancing music faded with a long, deep note and Anne curtsied to Marc Smeaton, her current dancing partner, with a coquettish smile on her face.

"Thank you, Mr. Smeaton!"

He gave her a broad, good-humoured grin in return that made his white teeth shine and the dark eyes gleam in adoration. Anne had liked the young, handsome musician immediately, who seemed to be in a constant good mood and moreover played the violin brilliantly, and so she spontaneously beckoned him with a gesture of her hand to follow her. However, as soon as she had turned around, her eyes immediately searched for the two thrones at the end of the hall and the slender figure resting comfortably in one of them with a cup of wine in his hand. Their eyes locked for a moment and Anne could see a small smile playing around Henry's lips. It sent a tingle to her stomach, knowing that he had watched her dancing probably all the time, being happy that she amused herself as well as a little jealous. He could get jealous so easily, but sometimes, Anne enjoyed it to play with the fire just a little, for her own pleasure as well as to keep him interested and to remind him that she was not entirely his, not yet.

"Sweetheart," Henry gently greeted her as she returned, Marc Smeaton still following her a little nervously. She curtsied a little and then turned towards the young artist.

"Your Majesty, this is the young gentleman I told you about, Marc Smeaton."

The same took a deep bow and Henry smiled. "Mr Smeaton. The Lady Anne had told me a lot about you. She says you play very well. Play something for us!"

It was obvious that Smeaton felt a little nervous to have the utter attention of his sovereign, but when Henry asked him to play, he visibly relaxed, being appointed with a task he knew he could do well. "Your Majesty..."

Flipping his fingers, his violin was quickly brought and he started to play another merry tune, which soon made the courtiers gather in pairs and return to the dance floor. Yet Anne didn't join them but took Henry's inviting hand, sitting down next to him. The king seemingly watched the young musician play, but he took her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss on the soft skin and keeping it there for a while. She pretended not to notice, yet her heart beat a little faster in her chest for a moment, the simple caress telling of so much affection and barely restrained passion for her... Anne sometimes wondered how she could not have cared for him in the beginning, when her father had commanded her to seduce the king in order to bring down the cardinal. There was something in that King of England, a dark, unpredictable and untamed power burning somewhere deep inside him that matched her own and excited her to no end. Sometimes she could control that power, guide it to the direction she wanted, but sometimes she could not and that was a challenge she could not resist. God, she couldn't wait to finally see that power unleashed in her bed, just the two of them matching their strengths and yielding to one another as they would be eventually equals, the king and the queen... The thought alone made her all edgy.

"I know it was wrong of the Duke of Suffolk to say what he did..." Henry began all of a sudden and utterly out of the blue, "but do you think it's possible we could forgive him?"

Anne had to blink once in order to realize what he was talking about, and when she finally caught up with his thoughts, she had to hide a frown. Charles Brandon was only three weeks away from court and Henry already wanted him back? She didn't like the idea to have a possible opponent more at court, especially since she heard the Duke of Suffolk would secretly support the former queen, Katherine. He had once allied with her father and uncle against the cardinal, yet it seemed with the clergyman's death, this ally was null and void.

"If you forgave him so quickly, some people might think that there was some truth to what he said."

"Yes, but to refute them," Henry replied eagerly, as if he had only waited for that argument to come, "to answer the matter directly and to show how much I trust you, I'll do a more important thing. I will invite Mr. Wyatt to come to France with us. That way no one can accuse me of jealousy or the slightest suspicion."

Anne looked at him in utter surprise and tried to hide any signs of unease or concern in her eyes. Henry was right, it was a good idea to demonstrate that he didn't pay attention to the rumours and probably she would have agreed to it right away – well, if the rumours were indeed nothing more than rumours. Unfortunately, they weren't, but there was no way she could explain this to Henry right now any more. Not after she had made him believe that she had still been a virgin when they had started to meet. Well, she could bear the secret since for her, Thomas was a closed chapter of her past. But she could tell from the always a little sad look in the poet's eyes each time he looked at her, that he still felt for her, and as all poets he always tended to be a little loose with his tongue. And the French... well, she hadn't been as indiscreet as her sister Mary, who was openly known to be first the mistress of King Francis and then of King Henry, yet she hadn't been a nun either, and she feared that some people at court might still remember.

"My love, you have no reason to be suspicious, nor will you ever have," she said determinately nevertheless and affectionately pressed a kiss on the knuckles of Henry's hand who smiled at her warmly and then turned his attention back to the dancers and Smeaton. _You have nothing to fear, _Anne tried to convince didn't believe his best friend, why should he trust the French gossip now? On the other hand, if the rumours proved to be too persistent, he might eventually listen to them after all.

She vaguely wondered what it was with Suffolk's banishment now, yet she guessed the fact that she didn't object any further counted as her approval. Well, should Henry have his duke back! Brandon might be a fool, but even he would think twice if he ever wanted to poke his nose in things that weren't his business after all. She had more urgent problems to deal with than him.

"There is something else," Henry suddenly said when the dance had ended and they were applauding the dancers as well as the musician. His voice was serious and he didn't look at her while talking. "Something very important which must be done before we can sail for France."

"What?" she asked concernedly, just when she saw the little smile twitching around the corners of his mouth. "Tell me!" Anne demanded, laughing and with her curiosity being woken.

"Shhh," Henry silenced her teasingly, but when she laughed, he joined her heartily. A warm feeling seemed to spread in Anne's body and suddenly she thought all her fears to be childish. Henry loved and trusted her, and as long as he did, there was no reason to fear he might get suspicious of her or poke around in her past. And when she was finally his wife and the Queen of England and had given him the son he longed for, it all would be irrelevant anyway. She just had to make sure not to lose his love and interest in the time between.

And she already had a very good idea how to accomplish that.

* * *

"You don't look happy, Charles."

Bluish green eyes were studying him, and if there was mockery, it was very well hidden.

"Do I have any reason to be happy, Majesty?" Charles asked, still quite reserved. For an instant he wondered if Henry might understand the question as a provocation, though he was actually quite serious, since he didn't know what to think of his friend's behaviour anymore. First, he had sent him away from court. Then, only some weeks later a message had arrived with the order that he should return to stand at the king's side with the other nobles at the investment ceremony of the Lady Anne as Marquess of Pembroke. Henry hadn't called for him any earlier and so Charles still hadn't known whether he was still angry with him or not when he had watched Henry ceremonially putting the circlet on Anne's raven hair and wrapping the ermine coat around her shoulders, not without pressing a gentle kiss on her skin. It had reminded Charles of his own investment ceremony – especially for the fact that his had probably served a similar purpose as Anne's did now – and when his eyes had met Henry's for a split second, he was convinced that the king had thought the same.

It was during the following feast when Henry had finally beckoned him to his side. Most of the court was dancing already, the newly invested marquess as well, so there was no one sitting nearby who could have overheard their talk.

"I supposed being allowed to return to court would make you happy," Henry now replied.

"It would, if I knew why exactly I was banished in the first place."

He was met with a long, measuring gaze from the side Charles knew quite well, a subtle warning not to go any further if he didn't want to risk Henry's anger. Still, the king's voice remained calm when he answered him.

"But you do know, Charles. You insulted the honour of the woman I love most dearly by repeating the gossip that was planted by the envious. And I couldn't allow that since people might think there was truth in the rumours if I let you get away with that."

Charles refrained from any further comments that might annoy Henry even more, but instead bowed his head just a little. "Forgive me, Majesty, I never meant to insult you or the Lady Anne. My words may have been thoughtless, yet my only intent was to keep you from disappointment or harm."

"Was it indeed? And I thought jealousy would drive your tongue..." Henry said, seemingly absent-minded, but the comment made Charles' cheeks burn uncomfortably, since there was more truth in it than he would admit to himself. Still, Henry shook his head as if to get rid of an unwelcome thought and smiled. "Still, I accept your apology, though there is nothing to forgive since I've already done that. Otherwise, you wouldn't sit next to me now."

Charles nodded curtly, but his face must have betrayed him, for only a moment later Henry sighed, emptied his cup and brought it hard down to the table. "Damn it, Charles, I said I've forgiven you, so would you please stop sulking? It wasn't my wish to banish you, but you left me no choice. The Lady Anne feared I might believe the rumours and if I had rejected her wish..." Henry suddenly stopped in the middle of his sentence, obviously realizing he had given away more than he had wanted to. With an impatient, almost angry gesture, he beckoned to one of the servants to pour him another cup of wine, while Charles clenched his jaw involuntarily. So his banishment had been Anne's doing, not Henry's. One the one hand he felt deeply relieved, after all, Henry had obviously not wanted him to leave court and had missed him enough to call him back after only three weeks. On the other hand it deeply shocked him that the whore Anne Boleyn had enough power over his friend that she could make Henry turn against him if she wanted to. No other woman had ever possessed his power over Henry's heart, neither Katherine nor any one of his mistresses. But when the first shock wore off, it was quickly replaced by a hot, burning anger that not only she could set them apart but even had dared to do so. Had he not helped to remove all obstacles from her way by supporting her father and her uncle in their conspiracies? Had he not even stepped aside and left Henry's bed on his own choice, making way for her? Did she really have to step in and destroy their friendship for no other reason than to be the one and only for Henry in everything?

"You should apologize in person to her as well," Henry suddenly interrupted his thoughts. "I don't want bad blood between my future queen and one of my dukes. Not to speak of the fact it would be better for your own position at court."

Charles knew he was referring to Anne's supporters, her father Thomas Boleyn and her uncle, the Duke of Norfolk, both powerful men who could be dangerous enemies, which he knew quite well. Nevertheless, he merely shrugged, stubbornly staring straight ahead.

"I thought my position at court depended on you alone."

He had just finished the sentence when he felt his chin seized in a firm grip and Henry made him turn his head so the duke had to face him. And for a moment the world seemed to stop for a heartbeat, Henry's chiselled features so close, the small gesture so familiar... For a split second Charles was indeed utterly convinced that Henry would lean forward and kiss him, could almost feel his lips possessively claiming his own, here, in front of the entire court.

Of course Henry didn't. But there was a tiny, amused sparkle in the bluish green depths of his eyes and Charles wondered if his own longing was written right onto his face.

"It does," Henry finally replied, "and that's why you shouldn't make me choose between you and her."

_Because you'd lose, _was the unspoken end of the sentence that hung in the air und burned like a hot iron in Charles' stomach.

"Majesty."

His own voice sounded husky and a little strange in his own ears, but Henry just nodded and then let go of him, gesturing him with a tiny movement of his head to leave. And like the ever obedient servant, Charles rose from his chair, bowed formally to his king and then returned to join the other courtiers. He felt Henry's gaze hot on his back and his mind still was a little numb, so he didn't know where exactly he was heading. At least not until the woman he just wanted to pass turned and he found himself face to face with the object of his current anger.

Light blue eyes widened in surprise only for an instant as Anne recognized him and maybe it was that short moment of vulnerability that made him stop instead of just passing her by. It was probably stupid to do so, yet Charles forced an icy smile on his lips and bowed just a little.

"Lady Anne. I think I haven't congratulated you on your investment yet. Your father must be so proud."

She looked a little taken aback, obviously she hadn't expected him to actually start a conversation with her, but regained her composure quite quickly and raised her chin slightly, accepting his subtle challenge. "I'm delighted to see Your Grace could return in time to attend it. To be honest, I didn't expect the king to forgive you that quickly, he was so furious about your words."

"Henry knows me well enough to know they were not ill-meant," Charles replied, deliberately using a quite familiar way to talk about his king, and continued with an audible smug undertone, "and after you seem to have a hand in everything he's doing right now, I suppose you also had a word in that delicate matter. So thank you very much, my Lady, you taught me a valuable lesson."

"And what would that be?" Anne asked, her eyes and her voice leaving no doubt that she sensed his anger behind the thin façade of politeness.

"Well, actually it's quite easy: The next time, I'll do my research more properly," he smiled, not bothering to keep the hatred out of his eyes, before he bowed again. "Enjoy your happy night, my Lady. After all, who knows how many will follow?"

He turned to leave, but felt surprised when a slender hand closed around his wrist, the touch unseen by anyone but firm enough to make him stop. Anne glared at him, making no attempt to keep the dislike out of her gaze as well, and her voice, though low, reminded Charles of a soft growl as it reached his ears.

"I know you pride yourself on being his favourite and irreplaceable, Your Grace. But who of us will indeed be irreplaceable when I have given the king his son, I wonder? So if I were you, I'd watch my mouth more carefully in the future... at least if you like having a head on your shoulders!"

They stared at each other for an instant, openly disdainful, before Anne let go of his wrist with a jerk and hurried off. Charles gritted his teeth as he watched the slender figure making her way through the crowd towards Henry's throne and saw the smile on his friend's face when he spotted her. For an instant the sudden, anxious thought crossed his mind that she might tell Henry about their small encounter, but on the other hand, she just had realized that her influence wasn't boundless and she wasn't so stupid to be out for open conflict. Not yet, when her position was not secured. However, Charles had to admit this woman was incredibly dangerous, even more than he had thought.

And she'd be thrice as dangerous when she had finally achieved what she wanted.

_You pack your bag, you take control  
You're moving into my heart and into my soul  
Get out of my way, get out of my sight  
I won't be walking on thin ice to get through the night_

Hold on tight  
You know she's a little bit dangerous 

_She's armed, she's extremely dangerous  
She's got what it takes to make ends meet  
The eyes of a lover that hit like heat  
You know she's a little bit dangerous _

_~ Roxette - Dangerous ~_

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* * *

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**A/N (Important!): **Due to studying abroad for one semester, I'll fly down to Australia tomorrow and go on a backpacking tour during August. Therefore, unfortunately I have to tell you that I'll be not be able to post for a month. But don't worry, I promise I'll definitely finish Fortune's Favours! Actually, there are only a few scenes missing that I haven't written yet and I have a little supply of chapters I will post when I have regular Internet access again (which will probably be in September).


	12. XII Reunion

**Title:** Fortune's Favours  
**Pairing:** Charles Brandon / Henry Tudor  
**Rating: **M  
**Story Summary:** King Henry and his favorite duke get a little closer than best friends normally are, complicating matters even more than they are already. Covers season 1 & 2.

**Disclaimer:** The Tudors belong to Showtime, I have absolutely no claim on the characters, the storyline etc.

**A/N:** I know the Tudors are in many points not exactly what you'd call historically accurate, still, in this fanfiction I decided to go with the Showtime version to avoid confusions.

Yay, so finally I'm back to the community! Thanks for all your good wishes, I've safely arrived & travelled through Australia and have an incredible month lying behind me and some more are still to come! However, even though there's so much to do and experience here down under, I'll try to finish Favours as soon as possible, I haven't forgotten you!  
Thanks to **Bunnster** for beta-reading and to give her credit for that: the idea about Charles giving More's silver cross back to Henry was actually hers (from an unpublished fanfiction) and I sort of adapted it. ;-)

**Chapter Summary:** Henry marries Anne Boleyn, but when things don't go as he expected, Charles and he eventually get closer again...  
**Chapter Warnings:** Angst, Slash & graphic sex

_**XII**_

_**Reunion**_

The colourful flags, pennants and garlands stood in sharp contrast to the dull grey of the cloudy sky. An uncomfortable cold wind blew, which was quite untypical for June, but somehow it fitted this whole awful day, Charles thought grimly.

The procession was slowly moving through London's streets, with the king and the marquess in a white carriage drawn by four beautiful white horses, accompanied by the royal guard and every nobleman of some importance. It was surely some sight to look at, but only a few Londoners seemed to bother about it and they were standing uninvolved at the side of the street instead of shouting and cheering at the woman who was going to be crowned Queen of England in the next hour. Charles still remembered Katherine's and Henry's coronation and how different had it been then, the streets bursting with overjoyed people who shouted out their congratulations and happy wishes for the royal couple. Now the faces of the people were quite motionless up to obvious disdain and Charles had even overheard some young men making fun of the pennants which were all embroidered with an H and an A for Henry and Anne, shouting "HA! HA! HA!" after the carriage. Well, he certainly couldn't blame them and had decided to turn a deaf ear to the exclamations, which was easy since the blare of the trumpets tried to override the fact that there was no cheering crowd at all.

A part of him felt satisfied that London had decided to give its new queen the cold shoulder, after all, these people could do what he would have liked to if he had had the choice. But unfortunately, Henry had appointed him Lord High Constable for the day and so he was mainly responsible that everything about the procession and the following coronation went smoothly. And if Henry was dissatisfied with the event, Charles could easily figure out who he would blame first for it.

He was so caught in his dark mood and pondering that he didn't realize at first that the procession had stopped shortly behind the carriage and there was a small crowd forming in the middle of the street. However, when he did, he immediately urged his horse to the point where the sudden turmoil had started and spotted a man lying motionless on the ground. Charles' eyes flashed at his face, yet to his relief he did not recognize him.

"What the hell happened here?" he demanded to know.

"He's dead! Shot!" one of the courtiers kneeling beside him exclaimed, visibly shocked.

"My God…" Charles heard George Boleyn mumbling behind his back and he involuntarily looked up to the houses around them. If someone had actually fired into the procession, he had to be up there… and he might still try again. Without hesitating, the duke made a decision.

"Keep the procession moving," he sharply ordered. If there was actually an assassin, he had probably aimed for either Henry or Anne and he would make both of them an easy target for another attempt if he let the procession stop. Let alone the fact that any disturbance would probably greatly annoy Henry, something Charles wanted to avoid at any costs.

While the poor man was carried away as quickly and unobtrusively as it was possible, Charles still gazed up at the houses around them, checking out the windows and eaves, every place where an assassin could possibly hide. Had there just been a movement behind one of the windows? He immediately sent some of the guards to search all of the houses at the sides of the street, although he didn't believe to find someone still there.

The carriage with Henry and Anne was out of sight and range right now, so with a last distrustful glance around, Charles urged his horse to keep up with them again. Now that the first shock was over, slowly anger crept in. Anger about the fact that he was here and had to deal with that mess of a procession and now an attempted murder, anger about the fact that the assassin could have easily hurt his king… and, though he didn't want to admit it, anger about the fact that the assassin despite all the trouble he had caused hadn't even managed to hit his supposed mark. After all, there was no doubt for Charles who it was that should have been shot on the way to her coronation that day.

And the ceremony continued as horrible as it had started. In a magnificent ceremony at Westminster Abbey, Anne Boleyn was finally crowned Queen of England while Charles stood and watched, like he had already stood and watched her getting married to Henry secretly half a year before. Out of sheer defiance he had come late that day, knowing that the ceremony couldn't start without him. Of course Henry had been furious, and still Charles wasn't sure if his appointment as Lord High Constable for the coronation was actually meant as an honour or rather as a punishment. He couldn't say what he had hated more, seeing his king marrying that whore then or seeing her now, already highly pregnant, with orb and sceptre in her hands, Henry ceremoniously placing St. Edward's crown onto her head… it all felt wrong, so very wrong.

Still, during the banquet he was almost glad about his appointment since it gave him an excuse to stay away from the lavish celebrations as much as possible where the Boleyns didn't get tired to speak one toast after the other to their family. Instead, he conferred with the royal guards who were at the same time turning half of London upside down to find the assassin. People had their hands to be checked at the city gates whether there was gunpowder on them, all the houses next to the way of the parade were searched and their inhabitants questioned. Yet they couldn't find anyone, which didn't do much to improve Charles' mood and when Thomas Boleyn called after him when he was just about to leave the hall, he had to contain himself not to snap at him that he should fuck himself right away.

"Since you were appointed high constable today, what happened in the procession was your fault," Boleyn said coldly, no trace of faked sympathy in his voice any more. Obviously he had given up his attempts to win Charles as an ally after the duke had bluntly refused his invitation to dine at their table on the visit in Calais last year. "I want to know who fired that shot."

"I am already endeavouring to find out, my lord," Charles replied in the same cool tone, not bothering to hide his disdain.

"Oh, I sincerely trust that you are, Your Grace," Boleyn shot back and Charles had to take a deep breath, the wish to punch that hideous schemer who flaunted himself for being the king's father-in-law now right into his rat-like face. Boleyn and he had never been friends, but in the last months, things had escalated between them, lately finding their sad climax in a quarrel between two of Boleyn's men and Charles' trusted servant and companion William Pennington, who had lost his life during it. So slowly, Charles leaned forward and lowered his voice to a dark, threatening whisper: "I have not forgotten Pennington. For I feel that was your fault."

With another dark glare and a bow that had more of a challenge than of a demonstration of respect, Charles bowed and left with large, angry steps, just hoping for this damn night, this entire damnable black day in England's and his own history, to end soon.

* * *

It was still warm, almost hot like it had been in the midst of summer, yet the days already had started to grow visibly shorter. The September sun was low and huge on the horizon yet still burning hot on their backs and their horse's coats which were dark with sweat as they reined their horses from a long gallop over the hillsides near London.

"It's late already, Majesty," Charles' commented, shielding his eyes from the low evening sun that blinded him. "We should probably return to court..."

"Yes, probably," Henry replied absent-mindedly without even looking at him. He had been quite uncommunicative and silent for the entire ride, but since Charles knew what it was that bothered his friend, he hadn't pushed him. Henry would talk to him whenever he felt like it, and if he didn't but just preferred his silent company, it was alright as well. But it didn't seem like that when the king suddenly sighed and turned to Charles: "Do you think it was her fault? Or mine?"

Charles shrugged, trying to maintain a face which was as neutral as possible. "I can't imagine how in the world it should have been your fault. And after all, she was so sure that she'd give you a son, wasn't she?"

"Indeed she was," Henry growled, slightly urging his horse forward again. "I still can't believe it. I had already ordered jousts, banquets and masques for my son's birth, everything was prepared for the most lavish celebration England had ever seen. And what do I get? A girl, for Christ's sake! I turned my entire Kingdom upside down, broke with the Church of Rome and the Pope threatened to excommunicate me if I don't return to Katherine. And everything for a girl!"

"And what did the queen say about it?," Charles asked, feeling torn between a slight feeling of malicious joy and real pity and trying to hide both.

"Well, what is she supposed to say?" Henry sighed softly, calming down a little. "She said she's really sorry and I believe her. I mean, Anne and I are both young, and by God's grace boys will follow. Hopefully soon," he added with another sigh. "But I still can't visit her bed, since it is yet too early after the birth. God, Charles, you can't image how sick and tired I am of waiting, always waiting!"

"Well, patience was indeed never one of your strongest points," Charles gently teased him and when Henry even smiled a little, he made another attempt. "But if waiting takes too long for you, why don't you take a mistress?"

"Hm," Henry replied, a rather indecisive sound that could mean everything or nothing at all, before he suddenly changed the topic. "Look, there's a little lake behind that trees. Care for a refreshment?"

"Sure, if you like," Charles shrugged, a little surprised about the sudden change in their discussion. Yet the thought to find some cooling in the clear water and wash down the sweat from his heated skin was actually quite tempting. And so he followed Henry, who had already turned his horse, towards the lake. It lay quite hidden with a lot of huge, old willow trees surrounding the water. The red sun was falling through the still green leaves and glittered on the surface, making the small lake look like a pool of molten gold.

They dismounted, tying the reins of the horses around a low branch and without further ado, Henry started to take off first his boots and then the rest his clothes, obviously eager to get into the cool water.

"So a mistress you say. Are you thinking of anybody specific?"

"Not exactly…" Charles replied, undressing a little slower than Henry and carefully watching his reactions. "Well, there is a young lady which is new at court that would suit your taste. Eleanor Luke is her name, young, blond, good figure… she's one of the queen's new ladies in waiting."

Henry pulled his shirt over his head and Charles's couldn't help but notice that his friend had visibly gained muscles during the last years and it suited him quite well. His friend caught his gaze and for a moment, he thought to notice a quizzical spark glinting in Henry's eyes, as if he knew exactly what he was thinking right now. Feeling caught, Charles quickly lowered his gaze, paying more attention to his own clothes again.

"The thing is, it would feel so stupid," Henry growled. "I courted this woman for years and touched no other in the meantime… and when I finally have her, the next thing I do is looking for a mistress?"

Indeed it was quite absurd, but not more absurd than the entire story, Charles thought, but he simply shrugged. "Many do so when their wives are pregnant or in childbed. After all, we're men and have certain needs."

"Oh yes, I remember," Henry smirked while fumbling with his breeches. "I remember the time my poor sister - may she rest in peace - was pregnant with your boy and you were so nicely desperate for a good fuck every time you returned to court."

Charles stared at him in surprise. It was probably the first time after their breakup that Henry had mentioned their… liaison, or whatever it had been. Usually they never mentioned it nowadays, pretending they had always been nothing more than friends. Although Charles had wondered many times if it was possible at all to get back to that point, to that easygoing comradeship they had had then.

"Talking about that…," Henry continued as if he hadn't notices Charles' confusion, "How about you and your pretty little Catherine anyway? Do you cheat on her already or is she good enough in bed to keep your interest so far?"

"I cannot complain," Charles carefully stated, taking out his chemise as well, not comfortable with the sudden twist in their conversation. Meanwhile, Henry kicked off his breeches and, being entirely naked, he crossed his arms in front of his chest, looking at him with visible mockery.

"Oh come on Charles, since when are you such a prude? Tell me about her." A broad, predatory smirk spread over Henry's features as he strolled closer and Charles couldn't help but admire in what a good shape his friend was. He also noticed that he was half-hard, yet Henry obviously wasn't bothered by it.

"Is she a little bigot who will only let you mount her appropriately under the blanket and with the lights out? Or rather the wildcat who rides you until you think your cock will drop off? Or one of these women who seem to be oh so modest in public but turn into wanton whores begging to be used once the bedroom doors are closed?"

"Well, what do think is necessary to keep me entertained?" Charles counter questioned teasingly, not intending to tell Henry about Catherine's and his marital life in any case.

"Honestly?" Henry asked, walking right up to him, his fingers playfully hooking the waistband of Charles' breeches, their faces only inches apart. "I thought that after being with me for so long, you'd be used to some cock up your arse," he muttered teasingly, "and I already wondered if you'd coaxed one of your poor stable boys to give it to you?"

Charles knew he shouldn't take the challenge, shouldn't play this game, but with Henry so close, the bluish green eyes glittering mischievously, his mouth seemed to speak before his mind could ponder on it.

"You actually think after I had the King of England in my bed I would be content with a stable boy? You should know me better, Majesty."

Henry slightly leaned forward to laugh softly in Charles' ear which sent a shiver down the duke's spine. "Yes, I know you, Your Grace... always more proud than is good for you, aren't you?"

"Maybe..." Charles replied softly and placed his hands gently on Henry's upper arms, not knowing if it was to prevent him from coming closer or just to feel the strong muscles under his hands moving. "But still I claim I can do very well without another cock in the bedroom but my own." And, knowing that by this, the challenge was sealed, he added playfully: "You're not so great after all, Henry."

"Am I not?" his friend asked dangerously soft and then, without any warning, he felt his palms against his chest, giving him a hard push and, taken aback, Charles stumbled backwards over the bank and into the cool water of the lake. It felt incredibly pleasant on his heated, sweaty skin yet he had no time to enjoy the feeling. Because the very moment he returned to the surface, snorting and trying to get a firm stand in the waist-deep water, Henry was already upon him. Rough hands closed around his upper arms in a firm grasp and before Charles could regain his balance or even the water out of his eyes he felt himself pressed against the rough bark of a tree standing half in the water. A breathless laugh escaped his lips, yet when he got a closer look at his friend he realized all humour had all of a sudden vanished from Henry's eyes and his friend was glaring at him.

"Am I really not?" Henry whispered. "And if that is indeed so, why would your eyes always follow me around longingly when you're at court? Why would you look all jealous whenever you see me with the queen? Why would you make me feel guilty with that miserable look in your eyes when in fact it was you who had dropped me? Why, if not because you still want me as badly as you used to?"

"Majesty..." Charles tried to defend himself, but Henry interrupted him mercilessly.

"Oh, shut up for once, Charles! Even your body betrays your words! Do you want to know what I think? I think you're so fucking jealous of Anne that you would do everything to regain my attention, even give yourself to me again though you used to neglect me. Is it not so? Admit it!"

"Jealous?" Charles snapped back, all of his anger and frustration in the previous months suddenly coming back to the fore. "This woman made you send me away from court with a single batting of her lashes and you think it is because I'm jealous that I feel miserable about this? She's..."

"Shhh," Henry interrupted him, placing his thumb over his mouth, his words a clear warning, "Don't go down that road again, Charles... you might deeply regret it."

With a soft growl, Charles defiantly slapped his hand away, Henry grabbed his wrist roughly and Charles tried to shove him away... and later he couldn't remember what had happened, at one heartbeat they were grimly wrestling in the half-high water, and the next one their mouths had somehow found each other, locked in a rough, brutal battle for dominance. Hands were pulling at wet, dark hair and roughly clutching naked skin, so hard they left visible marks in their wake. Teeth sunk deeply into the sensitive flesh on neck and shoulders, making the other one gasp in sudden shock. Groins met, far too tight leather on naked skin, rubbing, teasing, arousing to no end. Low moans and gasps, choked down out of senseless pride, all their anger and frustration of the previous weeks, months, unloading in this fierce, desperate encounter. And Charles didn't know whether it was his or Henry's doing that he eventually found himself pressed face-down to the stem of the willow tree again, but what he remembered later was Henry's low voice, huskily hissing into his ear.

"Say it, Charles. I want to hear it!"

Grey eyes met with pale, bluish green ones for a moment, anger melting into fierce lust and combining to a powerful, compelling struggle of emotions they had no choice but to surrender to.

"Bloody hell, fuck me already!"

A low growl behind his back, then impatient fingers undoing his breeches and Charles was glad for the support of the willow tree, his fingers clutching deeper into the cracked bark while he was trying to relax as much as possible. He knew quite well Henry wouldn't bother to be gentle or go slow, so it would probably be quite painful and he was proved right. Henry pushed in forcefully, groaning and growling like some kind of wild animal, while Charles only hissed, too proud to cry out loud though the burning sensation he was not used to anymore sent a sudden pang through his entire body. Fingers dug deeply into his hip when Henry started to move frantically, thrusting in fast and hard as if following some inner drive that left him no choice. Despite the cool water around them it hurt like hell, but each time Henry's hips pushed forward, Charles' own cock was rubbed against the bark of the tree, mixing the waves of pain with those of pleasure. Yet it didn't take long, maybe a dozen thrusts and before Charles even had the time to adjust, he heard Henry crying out in desperate relief before a shiver seemed to run over his lover's entire body and he collapsed against Charles' back. With a low growl and ignoring that his entire backside seemed to be on fire, Charles reached for his own cock and started to stroke himself roughly, yet a firm grip around his wrist stopped him.

"I didn't say you should touch yourself!"

His hand was slapped away and another one took its place and continued where Charles had left off. He wasn't going to complain, though, when Henry stroked him as roughly and fast as he had fucked him before and it didn't take much longer for Charles to buck into his hand with a low moan between clenched teeth and come undone.

For a moment they remained like that, both panting and trembling, trying to regain their composure. Charles' knees felt as if they were going to buckle and he was desperately clutching the tree to remain upright while every fibre of his body felt satisfied and was aching terribly at the same time. And so, naturally, it was Henry who spoke first, voice still shaky and hoarse.

"Don't fucking think... I'll take you back right now, because I won't... This is all you'll get, understand me?"

Charles nodded weakly, not sure if he meant it as an approval or just as a sign that he had taken the message in, and then turned his head to search Henry's gaze. The bluish green eyes were widened as if Henry hadn't yet understood what had just happened here, yet when their eyes met, Henry's gaze darkened in sudden anger and he took a step back, breaking the contact between their bodies. "You..."

Henry seemed to struggle for words, a strange mix of emotions washing over his face that Charles in his dazed state could for the world not make out but finally, anger seemed to win and distorted his chiselled features. Henry clenched his fist just to bring it down hard onto the water surface. Water splashed, millions of tiny glittering drops being catapulted high into the air and Charles involuntary turned his head to avoid getting the water cascade into his face.

"Damn you, Charles Brandon!" Henry hissed. "I'd damn you to hell, if you wouldn't go there anyway!"

And with these words Charles heard him stomping away in a fast pace but he didn't look after Henry and didn't move either as he heard him climbing out of the water, frantically picking up his clothes and finally the hooves of his horse as he urged the animal on. Only when the sounds grew fainter and Charles was sure that Henry wouldn't come back, he let himself sink down deeper into the cool water and exhaled with a sigh. But while his body slowly calmed down, his mind was still racing with unanswered questions, why he had been such a fool to let this happen, why they couldn't keep from hurting each other so much and why it was so hard to return to the friendship they had taken as a matter of course for so many years.

But, most importantly, he wondered why on earth he had been so stupid to ever let go of Henry.

* * *

He usually never doubted his decisions. Nor did he think much about them after he'd made them. Being the King of England, you could not afford to be self-doubtful, for every hesitation, every reconsideration, will be interpreted as weakness. But sometimes, like on this dreadful 6th of July, all of his decisions in the last years seemed to weigh on Henry's conscience like heavy plumb and he began to ask himself where exactly he had made the wrong decision that had led to such terrible consequences like the present day.

The documents from his writing desk still lay scattered on the floor of his study where he'd thrown them in utter frustration one or maybe two hours ago? He didn't remember, had lost track of time while he had cowered beside the huge fireplace, his legs tucked up to his body in a senseless attempt to hide from the world, even just for a while.

It didn't help. He knew Thomas must have been dead by now, beheaded on his command. One of his closest friends, his mentor and teacher for years, who in his youth had even been some kind of surrogate father for him. Henry could have saved him, any time, a simple command would have been enough to grant Sir Thomas More mercy. But he hadn't and now that it was finally too late for any saviour, doubts and an overwhelming feeling of guilt and desperation pressed him down.

But it had been Thomas' own fault, hadn't it? He only had had to swear the oath of supremacy and recognize Henry as the head of the Church of England and he would have gladly freed his old friend and mentor. But Thomas had refused, had been too stubborn and proud until his end and had brought Henry into a dilemma, because denying the oath and by it Henry's new title as well as the legitimacy of his marriage was considered to be high treason.

Still, if he had never insisted on that damn oath, Thomas would have still lived by now, would maybe still be his chancellor to advise him. In his wounded pride and anger about the fact that the people seemed not to accept Anne as their new queen, he had thought it would help and show his determination if he forced them to make a commitment and demonstrate their loyalty with this oath. But obviously it had failed it's intended purpose and Anne had also been no help, by first giving him not a son but a girl and then losing the second child she carried. He could just as well have stayed with Katherine, Henry grimly thought for a short moment, after all this would have spared him a lot of trouble in the recent years.

It was like a damn house of cards, every decision he had made was build on the ones before and the more he thought about it, the more the overwhelming feeling of guilt was growing and the nagging questions in his head grew louder if his latest decisions hadn't been wrong altogether.

He was so lost in his doubts and grief that he heavily flinched when he heard a careful "Your Majesty?" from the door and his face darkened at the sudden disturbance.

"I thought I had made myself clear that I wanted to be alone," he snapped.

"Forgive me Majesty," the man deeply bowed, trying to avoid Henry's glare, "but the Duke of Suffolk is here and he pointed out that you wished to see him immediately after he returned from London."

Henry took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Right, Charles had been at the execution and he had told him to give him a report as soon as he returned. Even though he didn't even know if he actually wanted to hear anything about this damn execution, let alone to see Charles now. Because of all things that had gone wrong in the last years due to his actions and decisions, there were quite some concerning this man he deeply regretted, though he had admitted it to no one but himself. But in fact, quite a lot of what had happened was Charles' fault...

_Just as it had been Thomas' fault? _

It was maybe this thought that made Henry finally nod weakly. "Let him in."

He stood up and straightened a little, when Charles entered the room. His duke had obviously just arrived since he still wore the dark coat and the feather hat that was reserved for public appearances and that made him look even more dashing than usual. Yet right now, Henry felt too grieved and desperate to be interested in Charles' looks, though he forced himself to smile a little when his friend took of his hat and then formally bowed to him.

"And? How was he?" he asked directly, not interesting in beating about the bush.

"He was... dignified," Charles answered after a little moment of hesitation. "Quite dignified and calm indeed, I must admit I had to admire him. As everybody did, I think."

Henry smiled bitterly, oh yes, he could imagine that quite well. "Did he say anything?" he asked, walking over to the window and turning his back on Charles, because he felt a treacherous burn in his eyes. Outside, it was a dull, grey day, as cheerless as he felt right now.

"He... he said that he would suffer death for the faith of the Holy Catholic Church," Charles' voice was gentle, yet each of his words seemed to be a stab to Henry's heart. "And he said he would die Your Majesty's good servant but God's first."

Henry only nodded, fearing that his voice would betray him as he spoke. So Thomas had indeed been defiant until the moment of his death, but otherwise, could he really be blamed for such words?

Soft footsteps approached him, but Henry didn't turn to look at Charles. "His head was cut off with the first stroke, Majesty, he didn't have to suffer." When Henry still didn't answer there was a soft sigh. "I'm sorry, Henry…"

"You don't have to be," Henry fiercely replied. "Now that I saw the defiance some of my subjects choose to meet me with, I can appreciate your unwavering loyalty even more, my friend. After all, you voted for the Act of Succession in Parliament even though you don't even like Anne and have sympathy for Katherine instead…"

He heard Charles sharply sucking his breath and could even picture the look of alarm in his beautiful grey eyes. "Your Majesty I swear to you, I..."

"No, don't... it's alright," Henry interrupted him with a sigh. Only some years ago, Charles would have never been so damn cautious around him but would have openly said what he was thinking. But these had been happier times and that they were over was Henry's fault also.

"Is there anything else I should know about Thomas' death?"

A little pause, before Charles slowly said: "I have something for you, if you want it."

Henry turned to look and when he saw what it was that lay on Charles' palm, his stomach seemed to turn upside down for once.

It was a small silver cross Henry knew far too well, because it had been a gift once, from the young Prince Henry to his admired tutor and friend, Thomas More. He knew that Thomas had treasured this early though not even expensive gift, but to see it here and now, with some treacherous crimson smears still on the silver...

Henry wanted to turn, wanted to run away and hide somewhere, wanted to yell at Charles and order him to leave, but his body seemed to have a will of its own. Hot tears welled up in his eyes, unstoppable, as all the misery inside of him came to the fore with might. A shiver ran through his entire body, his knees buckled under him and brought him down on the floor, a painful, grievous sound that had more of a howl escaping from his lips. And then there were Charles' strong arms, wrapping protectively around his upper body and holding him upright; and Henry's resistance broke entirely. Shivering and sobbing uncontrollably, he lay like a child in his friend's arms who held him, gently stroking his back and whispered soothing little words to him. There was no shame, no thought about what he was doing because the sheer agony and guilt raging in Henry's body was too overwhelming to leave room for anything else as he cried, long and hard, for a man who had been one of his most beloved friends, who had to die because he wanted it so, while another one held him and offered comfort selflessly. If it had been different, if Charles had been as stubborn as Thomas, would his head also have rolled today, his blood splashing over the block as the axe fell? The thought alone was enough to make Henry feel sick and such a wave of affection for the man that held him overcame him that his lips moved before he could even think about it.

"I'm sorry, Charles... I'm so sorry..."

"Shhhh... Henry, there's nothing you have to be sorry about..." Charles' deep, soothing voice was balm to his wounded soul, yet he vigorously shook his head.

"No... I'm sorry for ever... putting her above everything else... above the Church, England and... even above you..."

There was a long pause and Henry felt Charles' body tense a little even through their clothes. "No, Henry, that's not true...," Charles finally held against him. "It was my fault, after all it was I who ended it, who was stupid enough to leave your bed..."

A soft sound between a bitter laugh and another sob escaped Henry's throat but he felt himself calming down, the sharp pain slowly easing down to a dull burning in the depths of his stomach.

"Say... do you ever regret it?" he whispered, his head resting against Charles' shoulder, eyes closed and for a moment only enjoying the feeling to be held.

It took Charles even longer to answer and Henry already thought he would never do so, but then came a slow: "Yes. Yes, I do."

A bitter laugh came over Henry's lips. "Don't you think it's strange, Charles? Here we are, all miserable, and all because we wanted to spare each other from further suffering. And has it helped? I still don't have a son, my latest child was born dead, I was forced to have one of my closest friends executed this day... and you and I have spent the previous years with struggling and jealousy while denying that we still desire each other with..."

He didn't get any further. For that very moment he felt gentle lips touching his temple and wandering down his cheek and, like a parched man, Henry instinctively turned his head, searching greedily for Charles' mouth. They instantly melted into a sweet, comforting kiss, caressing and slow despite the powerful emotions it send through Henry's entire body and made his head spin. It had seldom been gentle between them, yet the more he enjoyed it right now. Charles' hands tenderly rested on his cheeks and Henry buried his own in the dark curls of his lover. There was no rational thought, no if or when, just the slow play of their tongues, not fighting for dominance this time but gently exploring the other's mouth anew.

"I don't want to deny or pretend anymore," Charles whispered as they finally parted, their faces only inches apart. "Henry, I swear to you, if it were possible, I would rather than all that I have in the world... that you might be with me."

How could it be possible to feel such extreme sadness and such fierce joy at the same moment? Henry didn't know, couldn't even answer this properly and so he just slowly and affectionately ran his hand over his lover's face which appeared to him more handsome than ever.

"My own Charles..."

His voice sounded coarse and uneven and he still couldn't think straight, couldn't make out why on earth he was acting this way. But damn, it felt so right, more right than anything else he'd done in the last weeks. Their lips met again, this time more passionate, an unspoken promise in their kiss that never again, they would let things go that far.

"Will you do me a favour?" Henry whispered between two eager kisses and when Charles nodded, he leaned forward to mutter his wish into Charles ear. And he couldn't repress a small smile when Charles looked at him in disbelief.

"What do you want? I mean..." he began but was gently interrupted by Henry.

"You heard me. I want you to show me how much you still care for me and desire me. And that's why I ask you to make love to me."

He could understand Charles' utter surprise, they seldom had their roles in bed reversed. An exception were the rare occasions when Charles had managed to coax him or Henry had felt like it for once. But mostly he had enjoyed the feeling of power and of being in control too much that he would willingly hand it over to Charles. Besides, the thought that he as the King of England should surrender to his duke the way a woman did to her lover had always held some kind of embarrassing note for him.

But this time everything was different. Because more than anything, more than control, he desperately needed and longed for Charles to show him that his words had indeed been true, that he still loved and desired him above anything else. And his wonderful friend and lover seemed to understand without any other words necessary but gently helped him up and guided him over to the sleeping chamber and his bed, an arm still wrapped protectively around his waist. No words fell as they undressed each other slowly and with care, caressing and exploring every body part they discovered anew. And this time, they were not driven by fierce lust like that day in the little lake two years ago but by something deeper and much more powerful, that Henry had neglected for so long but now gladly accepted.

Lips were meeting again, gentle hands guiding him down to the mattress and the so familiar body nestled against his back, radiating comforting warmth. Hands roamed all over his skin, sweet little words were murmured into his ear and he closed his eyes, softly moaning through it when Charles took matters in his skilled hands. It was maybe for the first time ever, that Henry allowed himself to let go entirely, giving himself completely to his lover and he was surprised how good it felt. However, it was not the physical sensations, though the sweet mix of pain and pleasure perfectly matched the feelings which had been troubling his mind. But more than this it was the sheer, weightless joy of being reunited with the man he had always loved most and at the same time a deep gratefulness for not having to be the king but only the lover for once, if only for some sweet, stolen moments.

_Maybe I've been here before  
I know this room, I've walked this floor  
I used to live alone before I knew you  
I've seen your flag on the marble arch  
Love is not a victory march  
It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah_

_There was a time you'd let me know  
What's real and going on below  
But now you never show it to me, do you?  
And remember when I moved in you  
The holy dark was moving, too  
And every breath we drew was Hallelujah_

_~ Rufus Wainwright, Hallelujah~_


	13. XIII Two's Company, Three's a Crowd

**Title:** Fortune's Favours  
**Pairing:** Charles Brandon / Henry Tudor  
**Rating: **M  
**Story Summary:** King Henry and his favorite duke get a little closer than best friends normally are, complicating matters even more than they are already. Covers season 1 & 2.

**Disclaimer:** The Tudors belong to Showtime, I have absolutely no claim on the characters, the storyline etc.

**A/N:** I know the Tudors are in many points not exactly what you'd call historically accurate, still, in this fanfiction I decided to go with the Showtime version to avoid confusions.

I know the Tudors are in many points not exactly what you'd call historically accurate, still, in this fanfiction I decided to go with the Showtime version to avoid confusions.

Finally another chapter! Sorry again for keeping you waiting, but I also have a good message for you: Two days ago I wrote the final chapter of Favours and now only the Epilogue is missing (so for everyone who might have feared I'll stop in the middle ofthe story and never finish it - I didn't! So proud of myself! Now I just hope you won't attempt to murder me for what I've done in this chapter... but have a look...

**Chapter Summary:** Anne suspects Henry of having various mistresses beside her, but when she decides to confront him, she has to find out that the truth is far more shocking than she would have ever imagined.  
**Chapter Warnings:** slash, implied sex

_**XIII**_

_**Two's company, three's a crowd**_

The soft, a little melancholy tunes of a cembalo sounded through the chambers and the slender hands didn't stop playing, even when the door opened and footsteps were approaching slowly. Only when a hand gently touched her fingers, Anne finally stopped but she still didn't look up. Instead, she took the bigger hand into her own, affectionately pressing a kiss on it and then holding it against her cheek, thankful for the welcome, familiar comfort it had to offer.

"What is it?" she finally heard the voice of her brother whisper. The sympathetic tone of the few words made fresh tears burn in her eyes all of a sudden. But she had to control herself, couldn't start crying like a child with her ladies-in-waiting being in the adjoining rooms.

"He's having more affairs," she therefore only said as calmly as possible.

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure," she insisted while he crouched next to the stool she was sitting on and soothingly rubbed her shoulder. "Often I can't find him. No one will tell me where he is. He leaves the palace, I know that. He's gone for hours sometimes." A small, bitter laugh escaped her lips since she knew how crazy all of this must sound to someone else. "I think he's got a harem somewhere. There's a place where he keeps his harem, where he keeps his women. I know it…"

"Anne…" George tried to calm her but she could see in his eyes that he didn't actually believe her. And of course he didn't, after all she had not the slightest proof for her assumption, had she? With a frustrated sigh she rose to her feet, not able to bear George's comfort that had felt welcome only some moments before. Instead she erratically wandered over to the fireplace, staring into the dancing flames. How was she supposed to explain this nagging, growing feeling of unease and fear to him, if she couldn't even make out herself where it came from?

"Something's going to happen to me."

The words were out of her mouth before she even had the time to think about them and when she turned, Gorge was looking to her in shock.

"No!" he protested, but she went on, unable to stop the words spilling from her mouth now that there was finally someone here she could really confide in. "You know there's a prophecy. Everyone knows it. The prophecy says a Queen of England will be burned…"

"Don't talk like this." A strong hand closed around her arm, turning her around and she looked right into her brother's eyes. "Nothing is going to happen to you…"

The worried look in his eyes together with the determined sound of his voice finally tore the walls of Anne's composure down and she felt tears welling up in her eyes. She knew it wasn't the prophecies or the prospect of Henry's harem worrying him, but rather his sister acting like a maniac. He knew as well as Anne that their family's good fortune depended entirely on the king's love and admiration for her, and both had already been harmed after Anne's miscarriage. The thought alone made her sob and reveal the core of all her problems in one simple sentence: "I'm unable to give a king a son… a son to be the living image of his father…"

"Shhh… It's all right," George whispered, hugging her tightly and she let herself held by him, sobbing and crying softly, all thoughts of keeping her countenance forgotten. "Everything is going to be all right..."

It was a sweet little lie to calm her, Anne knew. Nothing would be alright before she had given Henry the son he so much longed for. She was losing him more each day, beginning with Elizabeth's birth when he had first taken a mistress, that bitch Eleanor Luke. She had managed to get rid of her, had even managed to put a woman she could trust right under his nose when she was pregnant for the second time. But after her miscarriage she felt matters had utterly gone out of her hand once more. Henry behaved all huffy and cool towards her most of the time and he had even refused to visit her bed when she had asked him to, something he had never done before. She had always been proud that she was able to deal with the king so well while most of his court found him capricious and unpredictable, but now she often had the feeling of talking to a total stranger instead to the man she loved.

"Please don't cry," George murmured still into her hair, gently stroking her back. "I love you. I'll look after you, I swear. Please don't cry…"

Taking a deep breath, Anne finally raised her head again, wiping away the tears in her eyes and trying to regain some composure. "Will you help me, George? Will you help me find his mistresses?" she whispered, quietly enough that her ladies could not hear her. "If… if I know who they are, we can get rid of them. Just like we did with Eleanor." It had been so easy, one piece of Anne's jewellery smuggled into the girl's possessions and she had to leave court and Henry's bed without further ado.

"I will make some enquiries," George promised, gently squeezing her shoulders. But the doubtful look didn't vanish from his eyes and so she continued insistently. "Ask his grooms, they will know who visits his chambers and maybe they even know where he's going. And keep an eye on Suffolk as well…"

"Suffolk?" George asked, now clearly surprised.

"He brings him women, I am sure," Anne whispered. "Probably to buy back his master's favour or just to weaken my position, I don't know. He hates me!" Indeed it was quite striking that Brandon, who had almost shunned court and whose relation with Henry had been rather strained in the recent years, was now here all of the time. And while her marriage became more fragile and insecure by the day, Brandon and Henry seemed to be chummier than ever, laughing, joking and hugging each other as if there had been never any disturbance in their friendship. And only one week ago, Henry, her Henry who had once even banished his friend from court for spreading gossip about her, had even dared to openly humiliate her in front of him…

* * *

_The crowd laughed loudly while the actors on the small wooden stage continued to make fun of the Pope__, and cheered and clapped when the man in the ermine coat and with the crown of the king acted out. Anne knew it put Henry in a good mood to watch the play and the reactions of the crowd and she herself had also much to be happy about. After all, her husband had just told her that he had talked to the French Ambassador and King Francis would send the Admiral of France to arrange the marriage between the French Dauphin and their daughter Elizabeth. It would mean that Elizabeth's legitimacy would no longer be questioned, and it made Anne twice as proud since it had been her suggestion. So she was in a joyful mood, and at first she didn't think much about it when Henry crooked his fingers at Brandon who stood with his wife amongst the audience but immediately made his way up to the small wooden platform where Henry's and Anne's seats were placed. Still, Anne ignored him, pretending to watch the play when he bowed to them. _

"_The Admiral of France is to pay an official visit. I want you to receive and entertain him on my behalf," Henry told his friend, and this made her finally prick her ears and turn towards Henry._

"_Why him?" she asked, stunned, and when Henry only stared at her, she realized she had hit the wrong note. So she tried again, this time in a more placable voice, "Surely my father would be a much better choice." After all he had been Ambassador in France for many years and it was the future of his grandchild they were discussing, she added in her head. Even Henry had to admit that, but he only glared at her for an instant longer until he looked up to Brandon again. _

"_I trust Your Grace to carry out my commands," he said, completely ignoring her objection._

"_I am, as ever, Your Majesty's humble and obedient servant," Brandon answered politely, but although she still refused to look at him, it was impossible not to hear the barely constrained anger in his voice. _

_As soon as the duke had turned and left the platform, Henry turned towards her, all sympathy having left his face all of a sudden. _

"_That was unnecessary."_

_Anne had trouble not to pout like a stupid child, feeling belittled and angry at the same time. "He hates me," was the only thing she could get out. _

"_But he loves _me_," Henry hissed back._

_

* * *

_

The words still felt like a stab to her heart, even though she knew it was stupid. It was stupid to be jealous of Charles Brandon while Henry probably entertained himself with a dozen beautiful women somewhere else. She had far more important business to attend to than deal with that damn duke now, like winning Henry's affection back and ultimately giving him his son.

_But he loves me._

George still stroke her hair soothingly and she rested her head against his chest once more, idly wondering for a moment why those four little words made her stomach coil in anxious unease anyway.

* * *

"What instructions do you have from your master with regard of the betrothal of my daughter Elizabeth to the Duke of Angoulême?" Henry asked eagerly as soon as he had entered the small parlour together with Admiral Philippe Chabot and Chancellor Cromwell. The groom following them closed the door behind them to keep the noise of the ongoing celebration for the Admiral's visit outside.

"His Majesty regrets that such a proposition is impossible," Chabot answered, making Henry raise his eyebrows, taken aback by the unexpected refusal.

"Why, impossible?"

"As much as he loves your Majesty, the king cannot agree to betroth his beloved son…" Chabot hesitated for a moment, obviously thinking about which words to choose, "to a bride whose legitimacy is not accepted by His Holiness Pope Paul… by Holy Church itself. Not even by the Emperor. However, His Majesty, to demonstrate his love, proposes another match. He would consent to the betrothal of the Dauphin to Lady Mary, your legitimate daughter."

A small, almost disbelieving laugh escaped Henry's lips while had to restrain himself from yelling into the admiral's face what he thought of that proposal and his bloody king. Those damn, changeable Frenchmen! He had invited this man to court and received him with all honours, having him entertained by Charles for an entire week at Westthorpe and ordering a huge feast for his arrival and all for the fact that he bluntly rejected his proposal as soon as he arrived?

But it got even worse. "If you do not agree to the match," Chabot continued calmly, "my master will marry his son to the Emperor's daughter, leaving your country isolated in Europe."

So now that man… that creature was actually trying to extort him? Henry was shaken with anger and he would have loved nothing more than to have Chabot dragged out of the palace and thrown in the mud on the street. Of course this would be an open declaration of war, and war was the least thing he could afford now, but…

A short gaze in Cromwell's direction was enough to make his chancellor act. "Excellence, your audience with His Majesty is now over."

Chabot left with another polite bow while Henry was still fuming with anger.

"Majesty…" Cromwell began, hesitating but Henry sharply interrupted him.

"No, I don't want to hear anything of this matter right now, Master Cromwell. I'll retreat for the evening, you can tell anyone who's asking."

And with these words he stormed out of the parlour and back in the direction of his own chambers. Unfortunately he would have to cross the entire feast and he hoped he would manage to do so without being approached by Anne and her nagging questions. Anne. He snorted disdainfully. This betrothal that made him look like a fool right now had been Anne's idea after all, but obviously, his always interfering wife had overestimated her popularity with the French. No, he definitely didn't needed more of Anne and her ideas this evening.

He had just rounded a corner of the corridor when he almost bumped into some petite figure leaning against the wall. Huge dark eyes widened first in surprise and then in utter shock before the young woman curtsied deeply. "Your Majesty…"

"Your Grace," he nodded curtly and just wanted to pass her when he realized that something was not alright with the young duchess. Catherine Brandon was normally a very self-confident woman despite her youth, but now she looked utterly lost and her eyes were gleaming treacherously in the candlelight.

"What is wrong with you?" he therefore asked.

"Nothing," she replied, trying to avoid his gaze. "I beg Your Majesty's pardon if I have bothered you."

"Where's your husband?" Henry inquired further, ignoring her plea and obviously he had hit the mark, for a small, bitter laugh came over Catherine's lips.

"Well he's probably still in there entertaining Admiral Chabot and his charming niece." She hesitated for a moment, probably realizing the bitterness in her voice as well as Henry did. Having seen the admiral's indeed very pretty niece before, he had a very good idea why Catherine was that distressed and had to suppress a frustrated sigh. So Charles hadn't been able to keep his dick in his pants once again and had obviously had his very own idea of entertaining his French guests. Very well, it couldn't make his already bad mood much worse.

His gaze fell back on Catherine and once again he realized that she was indeed very pretty, even in a confused, upset state like this. Gently he took her chin, raising her head just a little and was amused to find wariness in her eyes, but no fear. He held her gaze for a moment, wondering how she would react if he kissed her right now. Would she modestly flinch back or obey just because he was the king or even gladly take the chance to take revenge on her unfaithful husband?

He was never going to find out, for Catherine spoke before he could do anything. "Forgive me, Majesty, but I should retreat to our chambers instead of drawing on your time. Surely you have more important things to attend to than a moody woman like me."

Indeed he had and since the spell was broken, Henry let his hand slowly sink down. "I will tell Charles that you have retreated when I see him. I wish you a good night, Your Grace."

"Your Majesty…" She curtsied and then hurried off while Henry rubbed his forehead and sighed, once again before he continued his way back through the hall and the celebrations. He crossed the hall in such a fast pace that many eyes followed him quite puzzled but no one dared to approach him further. Only when he discovered Charles in the crowd, who was seemingly looking for his wife, he grabbed him ruggedly at the shoulder.

"Your wife is in your chambers, currently crying her eyes out," he snapped, "so I would suggest Your Grace joins and calms her a little. When you're done with that, you can join me in my chambers, because I have a bone to pick with you as well!"

"Majesty, I…" Charles tried to defend himself, but Henry didn't let him finish. "And you better come up something good to improve my mood," he added in a very low voice before he let go of Charles again and entered the Privy Chambers with large, angry steps. After he had ordered all the grooms to leave the chambers, he let himself fall into an armchair, reaching for the flagon of wine on the table. Pouring himself a cup, he emptied it with one draught, immediately pouring himself the next one while pondering on his bad fortune and how to further deal with it .

The evening was ruined but after all, it could hardly get worse, could it?

* * *

Charles could have slapped himself. How in the world could he have been so damn stupid, risking the love of his wife who adored him and of his king which he had just won back, for one single roll in the hay with that French brat? A very pretty and seductive brat, of course, who had literally thrown herself at him, but still… he should have brought up more self-control to resist her advances. Mockingly, Henrys voice resonated in his head when he quietly opened the door and entered the chambers which were dark except for the silvery moonshine falling through the windows.

_Poor Catherine__… you're incapable of fidelity, you've always been!_

_This time it's different,_ he had objected, knowing that Henry's mockery derived from jealousy alone. But now he wondered if his friend had been right nevertheless.

"I'm sorry," he slowly said into the dark chamber to the slender silhouette that stood in front of the window, not looking at him. "I have no excuses, Catherine. I thought those days were behind me."

True, he had thought so, but this had been even before he had returned to Henry. Oddly, he felt guiltier and had been more afraid to face her than he was of Henry, even though she had nothing against him in her hand while Henry could punish him to his liking if he wanted to. However, Charles knew that Henry might be disgruntled about him bedding another woman since the king was a jealous man, but he knew another woman would never be a replacement for him. For Catherine, it was an utter catastrophe.

"Perhaps human nature can never change," she slowly said without turning. Charles approached her and stopped a bit behind her, not daring to reach out and touch her.

"I swear to you, it will never happen again. I love you too much. I have no right to ask you to believe me."

_Except for the King of England, but surely you can understand this, sweetheart?_

She didn't react and just when he wanted to come closer, she suddenly turned with a jerk. She looked so young and vulnerable like that and on her cheeks he could see the glittering of freshly cried tears. "You see?" Catherine whispered, "You did make me cry, after all."

He opened his mouth, not knowing if he wanted to defend himself or beg her forgiveness once more. But she only ran her hand over her eyes just once before she finally turned and walked over to their sleeping chamber, closing the door behind her in the unmistakable gesture of someone who wanted to be alone.

With a sigh, Charles let himself fall into one of the armchairs, taking the flagon of wine that stood on the table. He would have to go to Henry soon, but before being able to cope with his friend's biting comments, he would need some liquid courage. And hopefully, the cool wine would in the end do its part to dull and ease the burning feeling of guilt deep inside his stomach.

* * *

Anne found her husband in his chambers, sitting in an armchair in front of the fireplace and thoughtfully staring at the flickering flames. He didn't even turn his head when she entered and ignored her completely, giving the smouldering anger burning inside of her new fuel. He had made her look like a fool during the banquet when he had stood up, announcing he wanted to introduce her to Admiral Chabot's secretary and then ended up flirting and chatting with a pretty blonde. When she returned he hadn't even looked at her but had vanished instantly with Chabot and Cromwell, pretending they would talk about business right now. Only that the admiral had returned to the celebration shortly after while Henry had still been absent. After an hour or so, she had asked Chancellor Cromwell, who had told her that Henry had already retreated for the evening which was probably one way of saying that he went bedding the beautiful blonde she couldn't make out among the crowd any more, too. Since she felt not in the mood to attend that damn party any longer or talk to the admiral who was quite cool towards her and didn't even feel guilty for not attending the banquet and the tennis match she had planned in his honour, Anne had decided to seek Henry out confront him. Surely the many cups of wine she had emptied in the last hours to drown her frustration had played a part in her decision to do so as well, but Anne wanted to be damned if she let Henry get away with his secrecies and affairs any longer.

"Who was she?" she therefore asked straight to the point when she slowly approached him.

"Who was who?"

His voice sounded clearly irritated but well, so was she.

"That lady you were talking to, when you were supposed to be finding Monsieur Gontier."

A deep sigh, but still Henry didn't look at her. "I don't know."

"Is she one of your mistresses?" Anne asked, wildly determined not to give in that time. When he didn't answer, she stalked around the armchair right in front of him so that he finally had to notice her. The wine had loosened her tongue enough that she finally dared to fire all those question at him that were in her head day and night. "How many do you have? What are their names? Where do you keep them, hm?"

Still no answer, so she tried a little different attempt. "Someone told me that your nobles, like Brandon, are assisting you in having your affairs." Feeling encouraged, since he gave her an angry glare, she chuckled a little, adding, "Some people even think it is Brandon you are bedding, since he comes to you chambers so often…"

She had only said this to provoke Henry, not because she actually believed this neither very credible nor widespread rumour George had told her. Therefore it almost surprised her that Henry's patience seemed to snap suddenly, his raised fingers bidding her silence.

"That's enough," he whispered in such a threatening tone that she actually hesitated for a moment before her anger flared up again.

"No! No. You told me… you always told me that we should be truthful with each other. You said it was the definition of love."

"Then here's the truth," Henry replied, "you must shut your eyes and endure like your betters have done before you."

The cruel words and the reference to his former wife finally made her temper explode. "How can you say that to me?" Anne shouted out loud, not able to restrain herself any more. "Don't you know that I love you a thousand times more than Katherine ever did?"

"And don't you know," Henry yelled, finally rising from his armchair, the pale eyes flashing in sudden fury, "that I can drag you down as quickly as I raised you? You're lucky you have your bed already, madam, because if you did not, I wouldn't give it to you again!" With these words he rushed past her, back into his study, but stopped in the door separating the two chambers.

"Francis won't accept the betrothal."

Anne's head was swimming and she was stunned because of Henry's sudden outburst so that she needed a few moments to understand what he was referring to. But when she did, it felt like a punch in the stomach, draining all air from her lungs. "Why?" she asked, her voice shaking.

"Why do you think?" Henry hissed, turning once again to face her. "Because the Pope and he and the Emperor all agree she's a bastard… and you are not my wife!" And when Anne just stood and stared at him, he stormed out of the bedchamber with large, angry steps, leaving her dazed and utterly shocked. Henry's disdainful words had hurt her, but even more hurt the fact that the French King had actually neglected the betrothal of his son to her beautiful daughter. The same French King who had gladly accepted her as Henry's new wife only two years ago… how was this even possible?

Slowly she let herself sink into the armchair Henry had just sat in for she wasn't sure if her knees would carry her any longer. Only now she recognised the flagon of wine standing on a small table beside the chair and, pressing her lips together stubbornly, she poured herself a cup, realizing that there was not much left in it. Obviously Henry had also emptied a few more cups than usual. She assumed that he probably wanted her to go, but decided he'd have to throw her out in person. She was Anne Boleyn, the Queen of England, she wouldn't sneak away through the secret door like a beaten dog or a tiresome mistress, oh no!

Quaffing off the wine, she let her gaze idly wander over the table and it fell on a piece of paper that lay there upside down. She picked it up and turned it… and instantly chocked on the wine and had to cough when she looked at it.

It was a drawing, made with charcoal, depicting a sleeping, entirely naked man on a bed. He was lying on his stomach, his head resting on the crook of his arm while the other one hung down the bed. The artist was surely a talented one, since his object was drawn quite lifelike and with very much love to the detail, which was why Anne recognized him immediately. The Tudor Rose ring on the left hand, the wavy hair, the muscular build and the handsome face… it was none other than Charles Brandon, the Duke of Suffolk, on that picture. Even though it was Brandon like she had never seen him before, not the proud, arrogant duke being always quite tensed up when she was around, but a relaxed man painted in such an… exposed way giving the picture a clearly erotic note. Some Ganymede, seductive and ready to enflame even the heart of a God.

Her gaze fell on the signature of the artist, on the big letters H and R, the signature of her husband. _HR. Henry Rex, Henry the King._ But why would Henry paint such an image of his duke? Her heart was racing in her chest while she still stared at the picture, dumbfounded and not willing to draw a conclusion that could impossibly be true.

"Anne, what the hell are you…"

Steps in the doorframe made her head snap up again and her gaze met Henry's, who stopped in the middle of his sentence and now only stared at her and the piece of paper in her hands in utter shock, his eyes telling her the truth her heart hadn't wanted to accept.

"So it's true," she heard her own voice whispering while still being too shocked to control the words spilling from her lips. "The rumours are true. It's Brandon. You and he…" Anne shook her head, hysterical laughter involuntarily bubbling up from her stomach, "… he's your mistress… and I though… and I always thought…"

She couldn't go on, the laughter poured out of mouth uncontrollably, shaking her entire body while fresh tears shot into her eyes. Yet she couldn't stop laughing with everything being so damn, so ultimately absurd until Henry grabbed her wrist so hard that it was almost painful.

"Anne. Stop that!" he hissed so menacingly that she actually stopped, staring at him in disbelief, while he snatched the picture out of her hand. "You won't ever tell anyone, do you understand me?"

"Tell anyone _what?" _she replied, hints of her desperate laughter still in her voice. "That King Henry is a damnable sodomite who will go to hell? That Charles Brandon the nobody maybe only became a duke because he was such a fine company in bed? You don't even deny it!" she spat out in disgust when Henry glared at her but then only sighed, let go of her wrist and rubbed his forehead instead.

"Why should I try to deny it?" he asked cynically. "You wouldn't believe me anyway and I thought you wanted us to be truthful with each other…"

She laughed again, but this time without any trace of humour, the horrid truth and its implications sinking in only slowly. "But you weren't, Henry. You weren't. My God, this is so disgusting…"

"Oh, shut up," he growled, but it was more defensive than anything else. "Should I have been truthful with that? Do you actually pretend you would have understood it then? "

"I could have _tried," _she insisted hot-headedly. "I also accepted that you fucked my cousin when I was pregnant, because at least I knew what you were doing."

Henry snorted, obviously not liking to be remembered that bluntly. "Of course, you're such a permissive woman and not jealous at all! I'm sure you would have happily accepted a male lover of mine if I had only told you and maybe even let you watch us."

"I would've rather watched you than have you sinning with Brandon behind my back," Anne hissed, rising from her chair now that the fury gave her new power. "Good night, Your Majesty. I think I'll retire and leave you dreaming of your playmate." With these words, she rushed over towards the door, her head held high and desperately trying to fight back the tears or another onset of that uncontrollable hysterical laughter. She felt it a little difficult to walk, either because of the wine or the shock still fresh in her bones but she didn't stop when she heard Henry yelling her name, only when she stormed into the study and almost into a person who had just entered. When she realized who it was, another burst of laughter came out of her chest und she nodded her head overly gracious. "Your Grace… what a pleasure. In for a little amorous _tête-à-tête_? I can assure you, I haven't worn him out so far."

The dumbfounded look on Brandon's face was priceless as he stared first at her and then his eyes searched the room to stick to the door to bedchamber, where Henry was leaning in the doorframe, answering his gaze wordlessly and without any visible emotions expressed on his face. Seeing both men like that made Anne utterly furious, helpless, desperate and at the same time a part of her was still eager to find all of this incredibly amusing.

"Majesty, perhaps I should return another time?" Brandon asked in a low voice, but Anne answered before Henry even had the chance to do so. "Don't worry, Your Grace, I won't trouble you further, I just wanted to leave. And I guess Henry needs something to fuck for distraction now, don't you, sweetheart?" Another laugh pearled over her lips when her gaze fell on Brandon again. "Or is it you mounting my husband, Your Grace?"

Something dangerous flashed up in Brandon's eyes and the usual tiny smile that was always visible when he was enraged played around his lips."Mind your tongue, madam. You speak about things you have no idea of…"

"Well, that makes us equal, since you do things you should have no idea of," she quickly gave back. In a very strange way, she enjoyed the confrontation, to have finally someone there she could wreak her anger on after months of anticipation and suspicion. Yet unfortunately, Charles Brandon was no maid who could be intimidated easily, but a grown man who was not entirely sober as well, according to his a little too loud laughter.

"What's this… envy?"

One word more from him and Anne could have sworn she would have lunged forward and scratched his eyes out that glittered in visible mockery. Unfortunately, in this very moment Henry's voice cut through the air like a sharp blade and made them both flinch a little.

"_ENOUGH!"_

Henry's pale eyes were glittering dangerously and his fists were clenched, a lion ready to leap forward and shred everything beneath his claws. Waves of sheer, red-hot anger seemed to radiate from his body and Anne had to suppress the sudden urge to take one step back.

"You behave like two spoiled, begrudging children! As if I had nothing else to do than dealing with you all day! Do you have any clue how tired I am of your constant jealousy and hatred? I have given you both so much, even broke with the laws of the Church for both of you and what do I get back?" His adamant gaze bore into Anne's eyes. "My wife constantly seeks to control me and bothers me with her distrust… whereas my duke obviously thinks that the order to entertain my guests includes the permission to fuck them!"

Anne's gaze curiously flicked over to Charles who looked quite guiltily at this accusation and lowered his eyes. Malicious joy shot through her body and the fact that Henry for once had to experience how it felt to get betrayed amused her.

"It was an accident," Charles muttered quietly, "and I can assure you, I regret it as deeply as…"

"Yes, yes, of course you do," Henry spat and waved the argument aside before directing his anger at both of them again. "You know what? I'm so sick and tired of your selfish behaviour, but I swear to you, as I live and breathe, I'm not going to tolerate it any longer!" He jerked his head in direction of the bedchamber. "Get in there, both of you." And when neither Anne nor Charles moved immediately, he snapped, "Move it!"

For an instant, Anne considered just storming away with her head held high, but on the other hand she was not interested at all to let the two men alone to do as they pleased. She wondered if Brandon had the same thoughts, at least he followed with no objections and after a short moment of struggling with herself, she did the same. However, she looked neither at Henry when she passed him, nor at Brandon when her husband gestured them to sit down in the two armchairs in front of the fireplace. Henry himself sat on the edge of his bed, silently looking at both of them for a moment, his face oddly lighted by the flickering flames. The silence was quite uncomfortable and Anne found herself nervously kneading the cloth of her gown and immediately stopped it, putting her hands in her lap.

Finally, Henry snorted, a disdainful sound. "It's quite ironic, don't you think? Here you are, the two people who never grow tired of assuring me of your affection, devotion and loyalty. And yet the same two people also never seem to grow tired of fighting each other and give me a hard time by this. Don't you think that's strange?"

"Do you really think it's strange that it pains me to know you're bedding another," Anne objected, "especially since it is another man? I still don't understand…"

"I don't need you to understand," Henry interrupted her coldly, "but you will have to accept that there may be things you cannot give to me."

"What kind of things?" she demanded to know but Henry just smiled, that distanced, pensive little smile she hated so much.

"Well, since you wanted us to be truthful and said that you'd rather watch then having me do things behind your back... I guess I can show you." And with these words, he crooked his fingers at Brandon, beckoning him over with a devilish smirk on his lips.

It was the moment where she would have normally lost her temper, screaming in rage and storming out of the room. But she didn't, for whatever reason. Maybe it was the wine making her dull and more indifferent, maybe her curiosity or the warnings from her father not to annoy Henry. Whatever it was, she remained seated, just watching intently as Brandon slowly and a little reluctantly stood up and crossed the small distance to the bed. Henry grabbed him by the collar and roughly pulled him down to the floor, so that he came to kneel between Henry's legs. Still, Brandon put up with everything without the slightest hint of protest, letting Henry do as he pleased. Anne couldn't see his face since he had turned his back to her, but she could see the expression on her husband's face when his gaze flicked to her quickly and then returned to his… lover. There was anger, quite a lot of it, but there was also something hungry and fierce in his gaze that she had already noticed sometimes and it had always scared her a little. And in the next moment Henry brought Brandon's face up, crushing their lips together and kissing him fervently.

This was meant as a punishment for both of them, Anne knew that quite well. For the ever proud duke it was quite humiliating to be handled like a plaything in front of her, and she was forced to witness the sight of horrible sodomy the two men gave her. And in fact, she still felt somehow disgusted and utterly shocked. A few choked, little moans came from Brandon's throat and his reluctance was crumbling visibly as he leaned slightly more into the kiss and flinched when Henry playfully bit his bottom lip as he'd often done in a more gentle way during their love play…

Gradually the feeling of shock gave way to a slow, familiar burning of jealousy inside her stomach and yet there was even more. Something about the way the two men kissed was actually kind of… fascinating, she had to admit, with aggression and an intensity that was so typical of her passionate husband, as Anne knew far too well. And the fact that it was indeed Brandon who had to yield, felt somehow satisfying, for in a very irrational way, it made her feel supreme and even excited her in a very strange way she couldn't even explain to herself.

Caught between struggling emotions and numbed by the rich wine she only sat and watched, how Henry's fingers dug deeply into his friend's hair, how Brandon's hands clutched Henry's thighs… And for a short moment Henry's eyes met hers, the bluish green colour darkened with lust and a grim triumph, a visible challenge glittering in his eyes.

Anne was on her feet before she had even decided on it or knew what she wanted to achieve with this. But somehow she knew she had to do something, or she'd lose him forever.

So she graciously approached the two men who actually stopped kissing when she came closer. From the corner of her eyes she realized that Brandon quickly got up to his feet again, surely feeling embarrassed as hell but her attention was only fixed on Henry who stared at her almost defiantly and panting slightly.

"You like me watching you two, don't you, Henry?" Anne asked quietly, tilting her head as seductively as it was possible, being as drunk and agitated as she was. Slowly she reached out for him, the wish to slap her husband hard across the face almost overwhelming, but instead she gently ran her hand through his hair. And when Henry's lips twitched slightly at this, she added without thinking, "Would you also like it if I joined you?"

She heard Brandon sharply sucking in his breath, in a disbelieving sound, yet she still refused to look at him and concentrated on Henry, whose pale bluish green eyes gave no hint of any emotion. And for a moment, when he opened his mouth she feared he might just laugh at her or send her away to continue sinning with his friend.

"And you? You would actually like to join the damnable sodomites?" he asked mockingly.

Of course she didn't like it. If she had her way, Charles Brandon would have been dragged out of Henry's bedchamber and straight away to Tyburn to be hanged, scorched, gutted and finally beheaded. Yet maybe she could at least humiliate him by winning Henry's attention back in bed and so her answer was in a deep, silken voice meant to send shivers down Henry's spine, "If it pleases my lord and husband…"

A playful smirk accompanied her words when she realized the small spark in Henry's eyes swiftly catching fire. Gently he took her hands into his, pressing some small kisses on the wrists and Anne couldn't help but cast a triumphant glance at Charles who looked quite distracted and angry.

"What do you think, Charles?" Henry asked, turning back to him, a wanton glint in his eyes. "After all, you're so fond of beautiful young women in your bed."

Anne almost chuckled as she saw Brandon's jaw clench. Of course they all knew that it was no real question since he could hardly refuse, and Henry would get what he wanted, as he always did.

"Whatever it is that Your Majesty wants," Brandon replied politely, but not bothering to hide the disdain from his eyes. Henry looked at him for a few moments and then he actually laughed a little, clearly amused about the situation.

"You're terrible coaxers, both of you! But very well, if you're both so eager to please me… I guess Your Grace will have no problem to kiss the queen if it is to my liking?" he asked in Brandon's direction who blinked in confusion.

"You want to me to do what?"

"You've heard me," Henry replied coolly. "I want you to show if there is something to your words or if they're just the usual idle talk. So get on already, I'm tired of discussing."

Anne didn't know if she was supposed to feel offended or at least a little relieved when Brandon measured her begrudgingly and not eager at all to follow Henry's wish. But he probably knew he had to measure up to her surprising offer now and so he finally crossed the distance between them and Anne closed her eyes…

It was not as bad as she had thought it would be, given the fact that he hated her as much as she hated him. Of course, he wasn't exactly gentle, but a rather skilled kisser and the helpless aggressiveness fuming deep inside of him somehow excited her. And to her utter surprise, she found herself teasing him with her tongue, playfully biting his lower lip which made their unwilling, wine-laced kiss quickly catch fire. But it was only when she felt another pair of lips hungrily falling onto her shoulder, nibbling up her neck and strong hands possessively closed around her waist from behind, she didn't think anymore but lost herself completely to the experience, which was as weird and wrong as it was exciting.

There was so much stored-up anger and tension in all three of them that things went rather quick and the amounts of wine they had been drinking didn't actually help to put them off from what they were about to do. Later on, Anne didn't remember much of it in detail, just a lot of naked, heated skin, rough and angry kisses, hands digging into dark hair and clutching another's body, lips tasting sweaty, salty skin, excited moans and growls filling the already stuffy and far too hot air. And she remembered how Henry had loved it to have both their attention, his wife and his lover competing jealously for his favour. But although she was eagerly trying to best the duke with pleasing her husband more than he could, the sight of the two men together also held something fascinating for her. There was something in the way Henry handled Brandon in bed, compared to how he did with her, so much rougher and more… assertive that made her feel superior, which was incredibly satisfying. Because instead of making her feel as a female intruder in the togetherness of the two friends, it felt rather as if Henry and her, the royal couple, had taken some kind of plaything to their bed to amuse themselves with. Or rather she liked to think of it that way and therefore eagerly jumped at the opportunity to beat her rival no matter the cost, in a way he could hardly beat her.

How deeply she had been wrong.

It was still dark when she woke up, a throbbing pain inside her head and all her limbs feeling heavy and sore. Moreover, her arms and legs were entangled with those of the two men on her left and right, Charles arm draped all over her to rest on Henry's hip, whose leg was entangled with hers and whose slow breath was hot in the curve of her neck.

She felt a little confused but then the memory of the last night slowly returned to her and with it the slight feeling that she had made some big mistake. Of course the entire night had been rather obscene and would surely been seen as a sin in the eyes of her confessor. After all, she had not only witnessed but also participated in the men's sinning against God and the thought alone made her feel a little sick. Yet there was something else that bothered her, something with much more serious consequences, something she had done although she shouldn't have…

And when it suddenly came to her mind all of a sudden she sat up with a jerk, her heart beating frantically in her chest and her hands involuntarily reaching down between her legs as if it wasn't far too late for it.

"Oh no…" she whispered quietly into the darkness of the chamber, "no, no…!"

Charles muttered something unintelligible in his sleep and Anne just stared at him hatefully. It was all his fault, his damn fault alone! She could have strangled him in his sleep.

Henry was lying on his back, taking most of the space in bed as usual and a tiny smile was playing about his lips as if he had a wonderful dream right now. Well, the dream would have a harsh awakening, Anne thought maliciously but sighed the next moment, burying her hand in her hair in distress.

How the hell could she have been that damn stupid?

_I play a good game, but not as good as you  
I can be a little cold, but you can be so cruel_

_I'm not made of brick, I'm not made of stone  
But I had you fooled enough to take me on_

_If love was a war, it's you who has won  
While I was confessing it, you held your tongue  
Now the damage is done_

_~ The Pretenders – Human ~_


	14. XIV Fatal Crashes

_**VIV**_

_**Fatal Crashes**_

_It was a mixture of sensations that finally sent Henry over the edge, the not bearable friction and tightness, the feeling of sweaty skin under his hands, hands running all over his own body, their loud moans echoing in his ears and Anne huskily whispering encouraging words to him… With a loud growl, Henry's fingers dug deeply into firm flesh and a few, hard thrusts were enough to make him come harder than he thought it was possible after all their previous love play. Yet for a moment the world in front of his eyes blackened and, gasping for air, he pulled back and let himself fall backwards into the cushions. He couldn't remember when he had felt that exhausted and yet utterly satisfied for the last time but right now, he didn't want to think about it either. Gentle fingers touched his forehead, pushing back the sweaty hair. _

"_Some wine, sweetheart?"Anne's voice sounded clearly amused but Henry could only nod, still too worn out to even speak. She chuckled and the next moment, cool tin touched his lips but with an unwilling growl he raised his hand to grab the cup. Propping himself up, he emptied its content with one long, thirsty gulp. It made him recover quickly, at least as much as it was possible in his actual state which was drunken as hell. It was actually a wonder he was able to perform like he did, but on the other hand, with these two incredible creatures in bed who did everything to please him as thoroughly as possible…_

_His eyes fell first on Anne who was kneeling next to him, watching him with a smug expression on her features and he lazily let his hand run up her naked thigh, amused too see her shiver in delight at the touch. Then his gaze travelled down to Charles who was still resting and recollecting at the foot of the bed and prompted him with a movement of his head to join him. _

_With a satisfied sigh, Henry passed the cup back to Anne: "Pour my duke a drink, sweetheart, will you? He looks thirsty," and with that, he buried his hand deeply into the brown, sweaty curls, gently pulling Charles up who looked at him with that mischievous smirk on his lips that Henry loved so much. _

"_So Your Majesty is pleased?"_

"_We are indeed," Henry replied with a grin, pulling him in for a short kiss. Charles replied it gratefully and then thirstily reached for the cup of wine Anne held out for him, but just as he wanted to take it, she pulled it back playfully._

"_But sweetheart, I think your duke isn't as pleased as you are," she said in pretended concern, looking down at Charles pointedly. And following her gaze, Henry indeed realized that his friend was still hard and obviously hadn't found release in their heated fuck some moments ago. Anne clicked her tongue disapprovingly and reached between Charles' legs, her hand closing around hard flesh, but the duke angrily growled and slapped her hand away. He tried to grab the wine instead but Anne was faster and pulled the cup away once more._

"_Do you think he deserves the wine at all, not being exhausted yet?" she asked in Henry's direction and the perfect little pout on her face made the king laugh involuntarily. Normally he found the quarrel between his lovers tedious and annoying but in bed, it was actually somehow amusing. _

"_I think… we can take care of that," Henry smirked and wrapped his arms around Charles' waist, gently pulling him so that the duke came to sit between his legs, his back and head resting against Henry's chest and shoulders. Not able to ban a smug smile from his lips, he ran his hand down his friend's chest and stomach and deeper still, slowly beginning to stroke him. Trying to suppress a moan, Charles turned his head and Henry caught a glimpse of the desire and reluctance struggling in his eyes._

"_You don't have to…"_

"_Shut up," Henry answered amusedly, pulling him into another kiss with his free hand while not stopping with his movements for even a moment. He knew what was bothering Charles – he didn't like Anne to see him like that, exposed for her eyes and helplessly moaning with pleasure because of what Henry was doing with him. But unfortunately for him, Henry loved it just too much and Charles owed him anyway, so he would just have to put up with it. _

_Anne was watching them intently and Henry could see her tongue wetting her lips seemingly distracted by the sight. When she realized Henry was looking at her, their eyes met for a moment and she smirked at him, slowly crouching over until she could place her head on his shoulder, playfully biting and then nibbling at his earlobe._

"_Will you let me ride him, Henry?" she seductively whispered into his ear. "Let me deal with this for you… and I promise, you will enjoy it…"_

_And Henry, slightly turned on again, just nodded thoughtlessly. The wine and the exhaustion didn't allow him to think about anything else then the pleasure going on and so wasted not thought on why the hell Anne wanted to do this or what consequences might emerge from it. _

_She kissed him deeply in return and then crawled around and finally straddled them, getting herself down on Charles' lap before the man even knew what was happening. Anne gave him no chance to ponder on it, though, since she immediately began to move her hips in a hard, steady rhythm making Charles moan and gasp. He struggled a little against Henry who still held him tightly, loving how his friend bucked and writhed in his arms, as well as the sight of his wife who seemed to lose herself entirely into the wild rhythm, her long raven hair falling into her face and revealing only the triumphantly glittering eyes, her firm breasts rocking with every movement of her hips… If Henry only wasn't that spent and unable to get aroused again so soon, he would have buried his member once more in his lover's body, adding his own physical pleasure to the one the mere sight that Anne and Charles gave him. But so he only pushed his hand between their bodies, thrusting into him with two fingers all of a sudden and making his friend cry out at the unexpected sensation._

"_Like that, Charles?" Henry whispered huskily into his ear. "To be claimed by both of us?"_

_But Charles didn't answer to that for he was too busy rearing up and coming with a long groan, his body shivering in Henry's arms and finally becoming limb and utterly boneless. Henry amusedly laughed in his ear and kissed his cheek, then he gently took Anne's hand, pulling her down to join them. She smiled at him smugly… and later on, he wondered if she had smiled because she hadn't known what she had just done… or on the contrary, because she had known far too well._

_

* * *

_

"She's pregnant."

The simple words, though spoken quite unemotionally, were enough to make Charles gasp, who obviously instantly got what Henry was implying. "Jesus Christ..."

"You got it", Henry said ironically trying to keep his voice low to make sure that the guards riding a little behind them would not hear him. "Well, congratulations, Charles. Your chances on indeed getting one of your offspring on the throne have just risen tremendously."

He saw shock flashing up in the grey eyes of his friend when Charles looked at him in utter disbelief. "Your Majesty, I swear to you that was never my intent and for what it's worth, I'm ultimately sorry that..."

"Yes, I know," Henry interrupted him brutally. "Of course it's not your fault, you were not the one who practically begged me for it, were you? So if you don't stop apologizing for it, I'll push you down your damn horse!"

Charles relaxed visibly, but only a little before he looked again at Henry, obviously not sure what to say. "What does she say?"

"She says she definitely knows that the child is mine and that it's a boy this time," Henry growled, "but she told me so before, didn't she?" In a sudden flash of anger, he hit against the pommel of the saddle. "Christ, this woman will be my death some day! She tries to meddle into politics and my affairs for her advantage while not having done her duty, namely giving me a son. She stalks me everywhere, always nagging me with question about other women but on the other hand she readily jumps onto my lover when she has the chance." He didn't even need to close his eyes to recall the image, Anne straddling Charles, her hips rocking against his, and the proud, triumphant glitter in her pale blue eyes... True, it had greatly aroused him that night but later on, a lot of nagging questions had crept into his head, whether Anne should have enjoyed it so much and acted with such great confidence if Henry had been indeed the only man to have claimed her so far. But the great shock she had pretended to be in had indeed vanished rather quickly, to be replaced by sheer wantonness. True, she had always been a natural in bed, never shy and clumsy like so many virgins were, but rather a seductive young goddess who had quickly discovered many ways to please him. Or at least he had always thought so. The other explanation would be that she had been no virgin at all, that she had lain with other men before she had come to his bed and there gained her expertise.

Henry quickly glanced at Charles, wondering if his friend may have had the same thoughts. However, he could hardly ask him, since he had banished him from court for actually expressing suspicions like that. Like hell he would now do the same thing again, Charles was far too cautious for that.

"You know... sometimes I wish she was different," he sighed instead. "A little more modest and humble, like other women are, who close their eyes and just accept that their husbands need their liberties from time to time. Like Katherine did… or even your wife, Charles."

„Well, my Catherine wasn't actually pleased either when she discovered about my slip with the admiral's niece," Charles replied sarcastically, but Henry shook his head.

"Of course not, no woman is when she finds out her husband is unfaithful to her. But still, she didn't start to observe you or act like a fury." God, just to think of Anne who had indeed always acted like a complete bitch whenever he left the palace or cut her never-ending arguments off made anger burn hot and furious inside his stomach.

Charles shrugged. "That's the price of bedding a hot-blooded woman, I suppose. They're amazing creatures in bed but as easy to handle as gunpowder, with a spark being enough to have them explode and turn them into screeching, ugly bitches!"

"I'll tell you what," Henry growled, "if I should ever have to take another wife, I'll look for some modest, stupid lamb who is nice to look at and busy with delivering my children most of the time. And I won't care whether she's good in conversation or in bed… after all, I have you for both," he added in a low voice, winking at Charles who gave him his favourite mischievous smirk in return. But he didn't get to answer Henry's comment, for that moment, the hounds started to bark, having caught the track of a stag. Charles and Henry both urged their horses immediately, following the pack which had indeed hunted out a magnificent stag which paced away instantly. Over rough and smooth the wild hunt went and Henry laughed in utter joy when the wind blew through his hair and the fierce pace finally made all the worries and troubles vanish from his mind. There was nothing but the thundering of the hooves on the soft ground, the rush of the wind in their ears, the excited barking of the hounds and Charles' and his own joyous laughs and shouts when they followed the pack. And when the hounds finally had hunted the stag down and cornered him and the two men took up the lances and immediately brought the proud animal down to the ground, he was convinced that nothing could ruin this perfect day that belonged just to the two of them.

"A good kill," Charles commented happily while Henry dismounted and killed the stag by cutting its throat with a hunting knife. "Do you want us to get back to the palace?"

Henry didn't have to ponder on that for a moment.

"No. Is there somewhere around here we can stay?"

The answer clearly surprised his hunting comrade, but nevertheless, he obviously had an idea. "Well, there's Wulfhall," he suggested.

"Wulfhall." The name sounded familiar to Henry, yet he had no idea who lived at that place. "Whom is that house?"

"John Seymour and his family," Charles replied and the name put a smile on Henry's face while he walked back to his horse and let his guards and grooms take care of the stag. "I remember Sir John. He was in France with us!"

Indeed Henry had nothing against seeing the man he remembered as rather warm and good-humoured again, but the most important thing was that he could delay the moment he had to get back to the palace and his complaining wife. And being far away from all curious eyes and the busy life at court, it would be quite easy to spent the night together with Charles without having to be too precautious. The thought brought a smile to Henry's lips as he remounted his horse.

"Let's go surprise him!" he called out at Charles and had already kicked his horse into a gallop. And later on he wasn't sure whether it was chance or fortune that had led him to Wulfhall the very day he had debated his problems with Charles, not knowing that the solution was so near and ready to be presented to him on a silver platter.

* * *

With a satisfying crash, the wooden lance found its aim and splintered into pieces. Charles didn't need to hear the voice of the announcer that declared he had gained another two points to know that he had won the day. The crowd cheered enthusiastically and grinning broadly, the duke opened his visor and punched the air in a gesture of triumph. His gaze found his wife who had been sitting next to Lady Rochford, but now had jumped out of her seat, clapping avidly. Catherine looked all beautiful in her red dress and the light hat with a red feather attached to it and Charles knew that she loved it when he won, especially since he had naturally jousted under her favours. He was still glad he had won them back, not the ribbon of course, but the fact that she had forgiven him his latest escapade with the French girl. Though to be true, it wasn't actually his latest escapade, but he didn't like to be reminded of that unfortunate night whose fruits might still show in Anne's growing belly... no he didn't want to think of it right now. It might not be his fault, yet he still felt incredibly uncomfortable when he saw the queen these days. Fortunately, she had obviously decided to stay away from the tournament today.

Letting his horse trot from the list to the little sand ground behind, he dismounted, his stable boys taking care of his horse. He just wanted to return to the tribune when he discovered Henry standing in front of his tent with a beautiful blonde in a lime green dress who just handed over her favours with a shy smile. Henry gently took the ribbon and pressed a kiss on it, before he attached it to his armour.

Charles involuntary smiled as he saw her curtsying and then walking away, not without turning her head to Henry once more and giving him a sweet little smile. Turning around, Henry made attempts to get to head for the list but stopped and grinned when he discovered Charles standing only a few yards away from him.

"Charles... tournament's going well so far?"

"I cannot complain," Charles smirked in reply. Henry looked rather dashing in his shining armour and seemed to be quite relaxed and self-contended instead of being stressed and angry, something which had been rare in the last months. "Was that Lady Jane Seymour who just gave you your favours?," he slightly teased him.

"Indeed, she was," Henry beamed smugly. "I guess she might be a little smitten with me already."

Charles mildly raised his eyebrows, half in amusement, half in curiosity. Henry had met the young lady at their visit at Wulfhall and the moment he had seen her, the thought has crossed his mind that this was exactly the woman they had been talking of earlier... beautiful and modest, but too young and naive that she would ever object Henry or try to control him. He had told his lover about his thoughts later, after they had lain together and he had agreed. Still, he had been a little surprised to see her among the queen's ladies-in-waiting only some weeks later, wondering if Henry indeed planned to replace Anne with her. When he had once tried to ask in that direction he had only received a shrug together with some vague words he guessed from that Henry probably also didn't know what to do yet, but Charles knew better than to press the issue.

"What is it, jealous again?," Henry meanwhile teased him back, playfully wrapping an arm around his shoulder and walking with him in direction of the list.

"Maybe, a little," Charles gave back, a mischievous glint in his eyes, "after all, I didn't get any favours from you."

"Oh, but you will," Henry said with a telling side glance that sent a familiar tingle right into Charles' loins, "just that there will be no ribbon but my hand wrapped around your lance, while I'll thrust you with mine..."

"Big promise," Charles mocked him, "well let's hope you joust successfully and are not a single bruise unable to even keep up his lance tonight, let alone thrust with it."

"If I am, I should rather use it to stuff your cheeky mouth with it," Henry growled, glaring at him but the amused smile playing around the corners of his mouth gave him away. "Well, wish me luck anyway, my darling duke."

"Good luck, Your Majesty," Charles replied gently, but still smirked a little when Henry gave him a last, playfully rough clap on the shoulder and then walked off towards his grooms who already had his horse ready for him. Charles looked after him for a few moments but then rather decided to hurry so that he would not miss Henry jousting. On his way to Catherine, he was congratulated and approvingly clapped on the shoulder many times until he could finally drop down on the seat next to his wife who beamed at him proudly.

"Well done," she whispered and Charles returned the smile gladly.

"Thanks!" He leaned over just slightly to press a kiss on her cheek when trumpets blared and called their attention back to the list.

"His Majesty, the king has entered the list and will now joust _à_ _la plaisance_ with Sir Henry Norris!"

With the expectant rumble of the drums and under the applause of the audience, Henry's white jousting horse with the blue caparison galloped on the list, its rider in the shining light armour punching his arm in the air various times to show his determination.

"Do you know why the queen chose not to attend tournament today?" Charles asked Catherine in a low voice while clapping approvingly at his king, who now returned to his side of the field to get prepared.

"Lady Rochford had just told me she wanted to avoid the excitements of the tournament that might harm the unborn child," Catherine replied, following his gaze to the two empty seats reserved for the royal couple. But that moment the flag fell and the king and Norris both spurred their horses, racing towards each other in a fast pace. Sand was stirred under the flying hooves, lances were aiming threateningly at the opponent's chest, both preparing for the strike... and then with a crashing sound, Norris's lance hit Henry's shield. And as if everything seemed to be slowed down all of a sudden, Charles saw the white horse staggering with the blow and falling hard against the fence that separated the lanes. The wooden beams gave way and broke under the weight of the animal and the great horse crashed down to the ground, half burying its rider under it.

A horror-stricken outcry went through the crowd and Charles came to his feet without thinking, his wide open eyes fixed on the list where the horse slowly picked itself up and trotted away but Henry still lay down on the ground unmoving.

_No, don't let him be dead, please..._

For a moment the shock was too fresh so that he just stood there on his feet completely motionless, not wanting to believe what he saw. But when no one dared to approach the fallen king, all courtiers just staring completely appalled at the list, he violently ripped himself out of his frozen state. Yelling "Move, move!" the started to push his way throw the crowd heedlessly, not caring about anything but Henry, his Henry, who lay lifeless on the ground. "Is he dead, is he dead?" he heard George Boleyn shouting who was a few steps ahead and just about to kneel down and reach for Henry's body. But Charles grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him away roughly.

"Let other's help him, you can't!" he snapped, taking the other man's place. Together with a man he recognized as one of Henry's physicians, he reached for the lifeless body and carefully turned him around, taking off the helmet. Henry's eyes were closed and Charles numbly noticed there was blood running down the side of his still face. Carefully, the physician felt for his pulse under the armour and after a few seemingly endless moments he looked up to Charles, his face marked with utter worry.

"Take him, with all care, into the pavilion, where I may serve him better," he ordered insistently, "and pray for him!"

So Henry was still alive, but the gravely worried expression on the physicians face did less to relieve him. Was he indeed injured that bad, was he going to die every second? For a moment Charles was even afraid to touch Henry, afraid that he might die under his very hands, but then he pulled himself together. If Henry died on the dusty ground because he had been too afraid to move, he would never forgive himself.

"Seymour! Boleyn!" he shouted, spotting the two men among the nameless mass of people with shocked faces that had gathered around them. And for once, even Thomas Boleyn didn't argue with him but only mumbled "Your Grace" and wordlessly helped Charles to lift Henry carefully from the ground together with Sir John Seymour. Carrying him on their shoulders, they moved towards the pavilions next to the list just as the physician had suggested, the crowd slowly coming behind them as if they were a funeral procession and Henry's body the coffin carried to the grave already. The thought alone was enough to make Charles feel sick and it cost him a lot of strength to keep up the unmoving masque of the Duke of Suffolk who had everything under control, while he just felt like howling desperately and clinging to Henry as if he could keep him alive just by the strength of his arms.

_Please, stay with me…_

And though he knew Henry couldn't feel it even when he was awake, his fingers squeezed the shoulder plate just slightly, in the hint of an affectionate gesture. And it were the same thoughts he repeated then as he did later in the pavilion, kneeling closest to Henry's head for hours, watching the motionless features and praying as fervently as he hadn't done in years.

_Oh God, I pray you let him come back to life… for I don't know if I can bear to lose him…_

_

* * *

_

The waiting was probably the most terrifying part of all this. Hours of waiting, always waiting and praying, without the chance to do anything else. Anne could hardly count how many hours she had spent on her knees in the church, praying for Henry's life and that of the unborn child inside her and anxiously waiting for any news about his state. There had been a short moment of relief when the king had finally awoken after hours of unconsciousness, but it did not last long. For the same night, the wound at his leg had become inflamed and ulcerous and a high fever had struck Henry down again. People had been rather vague when they told her, probably not to upset her even more, but from their words she could guess that her husband's condition wasn't really well. Of course she wasn't allowed to see him, too and no one was there to keep her company except for her ladies who were as anxious and confused as she was and no big help at all. Her father and her brother were busy making preparations in case Henry should die as well as everyone else at court, whereas she could do nothing else but wait. It was almost driving her insane. And it was not only the overwhelming, nagging fear that the man she loved could die, but she was also afraid of what would become of her and Elizabeth if he died as well as anxious that her own fear and inner turmoil might harm the boy inside of her.

_Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee; blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus…_

Her fingers glided over the pearls of her rosary without thinking, as she whispered the familiar words over and over again, yet the prayer didn't give her the comfort it normally did, since the thoughts in her head were running wild. She knew why Henry lay there dying with no male heir who could inherit his kingdom and she also knew that all of their prayers wouldn't be enough to save him. For her husband had sinned so greatly against God that there could be no easy forgiveness or repentance, not as long as he and Brandon still clung to the repulsive, vile acts of sodomy they had committed so often in the past.

_Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen…_

Anne's head started to ache a little due to the strong smell of incense in the small chapel as well as the fact that she had barely slept the last days. She had just decided to finish the rosary and then leave to try and rest a little, when she heard soft steps approaching through the aisle. Turning her head, she looked directly into Brandon's exhausted, but despite the dark circles under his eyes still ridiculously handsome face, his grey eyes widening in surprise when he realized it was her kneeling before the altar.

She knew she should probably just ignore him, finish her prayer and then leave, but at his sight, something inside of her seemed to snap and the feeling of anxiety all of a sudden turned into a cold wrath. Here he was, the one responsible for her and Henry's misfortune, daring to show up in God's blessed house though he should rather have burned the moment he tried to cross the threshold.

"Leave," she ordered coldly, not bothering to ban the hatred from her voice, "there is no place for someone like you in here."

She had expected that he would follow her command, however, to her surprise he didn't. "Don't you think rather than argue we should pray for your husband's recovery, madam?" Brandon replied in a dangerous low tone, obviously having trouble to keep himself from yelling at her.

"How can I pray for his recovery," she threw at him, "when the very man that is responsible for his misfortune kneels two yards behind me!"

"Responsible?" he asked, now actually stunned. "Are you insane? How in all the world should I be…"

"For your constant sinning, Your Grace," she hissed back. "Have you ever thought about that? That your and his behaviour might have consequences one day?"

"Don't tell me about sinning, madam," he answered coldly, "for that would be the pot calling the kettle black, don't you think?"

The fact that he dared to refer to that unfortunate night and to equate it with years of mindless sodomy he and Henry committed made her see red. "I had barely another choice," she growled, "if I did not want to lose my husband forever due to your schemes!"

"My schemes," Brandon actually laughed out loud though there was not a spark of humour in his voice. "I can assure you, madam, my schemes are not the reason you're losing the king's love, rather it is your own whorish behaviour!"

"How dare you speak to me like that!" she yelled, closing in on him until their faces where only inches apart. The fact he didn't even flinch at her fury like he would have undoubtedly if Henry had shouted at him like that, made her even angrier. Anne raised her hand to slap him, however, he was faster and caught her wrists in an iron grip. She struggled to free herself, but it was useless since he was twice as strong as her.

"Christ, I'll swear I'll have you cropped by the neck when all this is over!"

"Of course," he replied, still with that damn dismissive expression on his face, "when you have given the king his son I suppose… granted it is a son this time, and actually the king's… and not mine."

God, how much she longed just to scratch her nails right over his smug, handsome face and leave deep red marks there. But since she couldn't hurt him with violent force, her words had to do the trick. And so she only laughed disdainfully, though still glaring at him.

"Oh, I guess you like that prospect, Your Grace... the king's toy who only became his title because he was so eager to bend over for him, fathering the heir to the throne... and in case he's not yours, there's still your own son having a claim for the throne, doesn't he? I bet you pray day and night that Henry will die, for then..."

She didn't get any further. Brandon's grip around her wrists tightened, so much it was actually painful and his eyes flashed in sheer anger.

"Take that back, bitch, or I will..."

"Let me go!" she yelled at him, more anxious than furious now, though she didn't fear for herself, only that he might harm the child inside of her. Her wrists were aching and she struggled to free herself, screaming and hissing like being possessed...

"Your Majesty..." she heard someone yelling, then there were quick footsteps and suddenly, Brandon let her go and she stumbled back, almost losing her balance and instinctively clutching her stomach. A wave of sudden anxiety overcame her, what was she thinking to get upset like that? An uncontrollable sob came out of oh her mouth, a mixture of relief, panic and enragement from the fight washing all over her and she fell down to her knees. A strong arm was supporting her waist and keeping her upright, but all Anne could think of was, _oh God, please let the baby be unharmed..._

"Majesty... Your Majesty..." the man continued to talk at her. She recognized him as one of the guards who were supposed to be waiting outside of the chapel, since her father had insisted on her not going unprotected everywhere these days. "Has he harmed you, madam?"

Looking up, Anne realized that the other guard now held Brandon at bay, threateningly pointing at him with his rapier. The duke did nothing to defend himself or fight back but stared at her with visible disdain when Anne slowly nodded, still sobbing.

"Your Grace," the other guard now turned to Brandon, "for the present you're arrested for attacking and trying to harm the Queen of England. We have to escort you to your chambers and have you stay there under custody until His Majesty can decide over this matter."

For a moment it seemed to Anne as if the duke was going to lunge at the man, since his whole body was still tense and his grey eyes glittered dangerously, but then something like resignation seemed to wash over his face and he surrendered.

"Of course, if you must," he replied with another long glance at Anne, who was still trembling due to the shock but also a little in triumph. Was this finally the chance for her to do something, could she give that bastard what he deserved... though, of course, Henry would free him immediately, should he win the fight against the terrible fever.

Still feeling a little numb, she felt that she was helped unto her feet and just noticed the other guard escorted Brandon out of the chapel when another thought came to her mind.

"It's him," she whispered, almost inaudible, "he can't be better as long as _he_ lives..."

_It's a chance, maybe the last one the lord will give us unworthy sinners!_

"Bring me to my chambers and to the care of my ladies," she ordered weakly, "and then send for my father and my brother!"

"Of course, madam," the guard mumbled, obviously relieved to hear something different from his queen then sobbing and senseless whispers. "Are you feeling better now, madam?"

But Anne didn't respond, just nodded absent-mindedly, for all her mind was concentrated on one thought: that here and now she might finally have the chance to save her husband from death and damnation… and instead send Charles Brandon to hell forever.

_Like a thorn in the side, a distortion of life  
No way, can't take another day  
Every storm you create, every feeling I fake  
Wake up, my truth became a slut  
How hard you try, no matter what you do  
In the end, my dear  
Your love won't never be enough for two_

_~ DeVision - I'm not dreaming of you ~_


	15. XV Blood for the Rose

**Title:** Fortune's Favours  
**Pairing:** Charles Brandon / Henry Tudor  
**Rating: **R  
**Story Summary:** King Henry and his favorite duke get a little closer than best friends normally are, complicating matters even more than they are already. Covers season 1 & 2.

**Disclaimer:** The Tudors belong to Showtime, I have absolutely no claim on the characters, the storyline etc.

**A/N:** I know the Tudors are in many points not exactly what you'd call historically accurate, still, in this fanfiction I decided to go with the Showtime version to avoid confusions.

I know the Tudors are in many points not exactly what you'd call historically accurate, still, in this fanfiction I decided to go with the Showtime version to avoid confusions.

Thanks to Narya for beta-reading.

You might have noticed that I am taking some liberties with the storyline lately, which was necessary to keep the triangle drama between Henry, Anne and Charles upright. Otherwise, the focus would have shifted too much to Anne Boleyn and after all, this fanfiction is mainly about Henry & Charles. I hope you don't mind, if you do - sorry *g*

**Chapter Summary:** Due to the schemes of the Boleyns, Charles' attack on the queen jeopardizes not only his position at court but also his neck...

**Chapter Warnings:** implied slash, angst

_**XV**_

_**Blood for the Rose**_

George Boleyn found his sister very pale and with a frightened expression her eyes while she was lying in her bed that seemed far too large for such a fragile woman. Her hands were clamped around a damping mug that smelled of herbs, but she only seemed to use it to warm their hands with it.

"Anne! Are you well?" their father insisted, storming over to her bed and sitting down on the edge. "And what about the boy? Is he well?" And when Anne didn't answer immediately, he urged her, "Speak, daughter, for the love of God!"

"I want Suffolk dead," she whispered, not even looking at him and not answering the question as well. A cold shiver ran over George's spine. Anne had been rather unstable and sometimes even acted a little obsessed lately, but what if all the stress with the king's illness and Suffolk's attack now had finally sent her over the edge into utter madness?

"Sure you do, love," her father tried to calm her, "and so do we. And be assured he will get what he deserves, but believe me, right now we have more important things to concentrate on. We must…"

But Anne only shook his head. "You don't understand," she said softly but with an eerie determination. "There will be no child and there will be no king anymore. Not if he stays alive, I know it!"

"Anne, this is madness," George said with a pacifying voice, reaching for her hand which was icy. "Suffolk is grounded in his chambers; he can't get out to harm you or the king. You're absolutely safe in here."

But she wildly shook her head. "No… no, that's not it. It's a punishment… for their sins and for mine… because I knew and have not acted on it until now when it is almost too late…"

"Acted on what? What are you talking about, Anne?" their father interrupted her sharply.

"They are not only friends, but also lovers, the king and his duke," Anne replied, suddenly chuckling lightly. "Isn't it funny? I was always jealous of other women while Henry was busy mounting his beloved favourite Suffolk all the time."

George sharply sucked in his breath. "Anne… you know what I told you were only rumours and not very credible ones…"

"But they're true nevertheless!" Anne exclaimed. "George, the king even admitted it to me! And I have seen them kissing… and more!"

"Shhh, don't get upset," Thomas Boleyn tried to calm his agitated daughter, while George's mind was racing. Of course he had known that the king and the duke were close, as everyone knew, but still he had thought the rumour some stable boy had from one of the grooms to be nothing more like that. After all both men were known as notorious squires of dames and referring to his own, admittedly not very broad experience, he had always thought it was only possible to love either men or women. He himself had never managed to really bring up passion for a woman, as his woebegone experience with his wife showed, and he knew that Marc felt the same. Thinking about that King Henry might sneak to his duke's chambers like he did to Marc's… it was an odd thought, yet not an unpleasant one. After all, Suffolk was definitely the most handsome man at court with his muscular built, the contagious smirk and his expressive grey eyes. If George was the king and had this man as a lover… he was sure he'd keep Charles Brandon in his bed all day.

He quickly tried to push the thought away as he felt unwelcome arousal pooling in his loins and instead concentrated again on his sister, who was still trying to convince their father that Charles Brandon had to die to make up for the great sin both men had committed because otherwise, Henry would die and her child would be another stillbirth. It made George feel rather uncomfortable to hear her talk like this, after all Anne knew that he also belonged to the sort of men she was condemning right know. Of course he knew it was damnable sin what he did and that she only accepted his affection for men because she loved him but never really understood… still, it hurt a little to hear her speaking like that.

"I understand, I understand, sweetheart," Thomas Boleyn now assured, gently squeezing Anne's shoulders. "Everything will be all right, just let me talk with your brother for a minute, will you?"

Anne nodded weakly, obviously having calmed a little and George looked puzzled at his father when he led him towards the door and into the anteroom, so that Anne could not hear them anymore.

"You're actually going to give her what she wants?" George asked, stunned. „She sounds like she's totally out of her mind!"

"That's true, still, I believe what she says," his father muttered thoughtfully. "I always had a feeling there's more between Suffolk and the king then mere friendship. You should have seen him while he was banished from court for marrying the king's sister… like a dog chased away by its master, a pitiful sight!"

"But to think that his fate determines the one of the king and the child…"

"Is nonsense, of course," his father agreed. "Still, she is right in one point. This is a very good chance to get rid of the Duke of Suffolk forever… who has, not to forget, a son with a claim on the throne. If the king dies, he might try to get him on the throne past Elizabeth who is, unfortunately, just a girl."

"So what do you want to do, order his death?" George frowned.

"Of course not, foolish boy," Thomas Boleyn snorted. "To explain to the king, should he recover, that we executed his favourite toy without any permission? We'd be the next ones to find our heads on the block. However, what if Anne claims that he has indeed tried to harm her and the child or better, tried to abduct her to get control over the heir to the throne? It would be high treason and he'd be sent straight to the Tower where some… misfortune might befall him."

"But only the king has the authority to send someone as powerful as the Duke of Suffolk to the Tower," George objected, but his father only smiled.

"And so he will. Trust me."

* * *

_He was dragging himself through a desert that just seemed to have no end. Walking, always walking, and every single step seemed to be harder than the last one, sending another jolt of pain through his aching body. The sun was burning mercilessly from the sky, setting his entire body on fire, especially his throat which was burning with thirst. He had forgotten where he was heading, had forgotten where he came from, he had even forgotten what he was doing here, just that he had followed someone or something but he just couldn't remember anymore. He only knew that he couldn't stop, that he had to go on walking, always walking…_

_Ruins were appearing on the sides when he dragged himself further, once mighty buildings, now abandoned and decayed. Where in all the world was he?_

_He randomly approached one of the buildings and entered, walked through a couple of once magnificent corridors and hallways when suddenly a whisper came through the air and out of the walls, like the wind howling through the walls of the abandoned building._

_Majesty… Your Majesty…_

_And then he remembered and it felt like a huge shock. Of course, this was Whitehall Palace and so the city he had dragged himself through had to be the London. But why all this decay and where were the people, where was court?_

"_What has happened?" he asked, or tried to ask, but the words seemed to be stuck in his burning, swollen throat and all he could manage was a groan._

_Water. He didn't know if he or someone else had said the word or if it just popped up in his mind but all of a sudden, there was a small pond, right in the middle of the throne hall and he was kneeling next to it, drinking greedily. However, the water seemed to evaporate in his throat the moment he drank it and no matter how often he refilled his hands, it didn't soothe the burning. In helpless, desperate fury he smashed his hand onto the surface of the crystal pond, stirring up the water and suddenly it seemed to form images. A beautiful woman with long raven hair and pale blue eyes was staring at him intensely, but there was something beseeching in her gaze, as if she wanted to tell him something but couldn't._

"_Anne," he whispered, reaching out for her, but reaching into nothingness. And still there was the voice that seemed to come from somewhere. He didn't understand all of what it said, only pieces, but those pieces were enough to make his blood freeze._

_She's in danger… she was attacked… she might have lost the child… might still lose it… _

_The child… your heir… my heir…_

_A rose, just growing next to the pool, with white and red petals, but fading like everything else in here, the head already hanging down, the petals beginning to turn brown. And the moment he saw it, he knew that all the decay was due to that single rose fading away right now and it filled his heart with cold fear. The rose mustn't die, or everything, everything was lost! He desperately refilled his hands with water, again and again, trying to get it to the rose, but it always evaporated halfway. The woman was looking at him from the surface of the pool, shaking her head impatiently and he felt himself getting angry. Couldn't she just tell him what to do or come out and help him? _

"_We have to protect her!" he tried to yell and pointed at the rose but the only words coming from his mouth were a painful "protect… her…" _

_There was a slight movement next to him and when he turned his head, he saw the centaur trotting to his side, a sad expression in his grey eyes. And now he remembered, he had been following the creature in the first place and this was what had led him here, to this place. _

…_he could have harmed her and the child… keep her safe… have to take care that he can't…_

"_Charles," he said slowly and a wave of sadness, he didn't know why, overcame him. _

_Reach out your hand._

_He did, sinking his hand into the pond and suddenly, his hand grabbed something solid and when he pulled his hand out of the water, he found a dagger in it._

_And suddenly he understood. The rose wouldn't bloom again with the help of water, no, she was a special rose and she needed something stronger. Blood. Blood had to flow before this rose would bloom in their old strength again._

_Grey eyes were looking at him, full of sorrow and with a slight weariness as if the creature had already come to terms with its fate. But still he hesitated, knowing what he had to do to save the rose but still not having the heart to do it._

_I don't want to choose._

_Then I will help you with it._

_All of a sudden, the dagger in his hand began to twist and when he looked down at it, it was no dagger any more but a living, hissing snake that leaped forward, escaped his hand and deeply dug its teeth into the centaur's leg. The creature yelled out in pain and reared but then eventually fell down to the ground, wincing and shivering a few more times in mortal agony but finally becoming still. He cried out in horror, hurrying to his side but just to find that it was already too late. _

"_Charles…"_

But it was only a faint whisper that came from the feverish king's lips, unheard by everyone.

_

* * *

_

It was already late when George Boleyn made his way through the palace, and he didn't meet many people on it. On the one hand, he was glad about it, since he knew his father wouldn't approve of his actions and actually, he didn't even know what he was doing here. On the other hand, he felt a certain kind of edginess, sneaking through the corridors like this, somehow comparable to the feeling when he came to Marc's chambers at night, only that he wasn't up to something forbidden and sinful this night.

_Oh, aren't you? _asked the mocking voice of his consciousness for the hundredth time this day. _Then what exactly do you want here? _

He chose to ignore it, just like all the times before.

The guards let him pass without much questioning when he claimed to be here at the behest of his father, the Lord Privy Seal. At first, he had some difficulties to see anything, since the chambers he entered were gloomy and dark, no flames in the fireplace, no candles and no other source of light but the soft moonshine falling through the windows. Yet when his eyes got used to the dark, he quickly made out the figure sitting in the window niche, pensively staring outside and not bothering to give him a single glance. He was wearing only a simple, low-collared shirt and dark pants, but even in this simple attire he looked dashing, as always.

George cleared his throat audibly and when there was no reaction, he asked in a voice less firm than he had wanted to, "Your Grace?"

"What do you want?" No title, no greeting, nothing, just disinterest and defiance. Obviously Suffolk was not interested in court pleasantries anymore, but well, he could do without.

"I am here to inform Your Grace that you will be taken to the Tower tomorrow morning, to stay there on behalf of the king for as long as it pleases His Majesty," George was glad his voice sounded more steady now as he slowly approached the other man, feeling strangely nervous, although he knew there was nothing that Suffolk could possibly dare to do to him. Still, he stopped in his tracks when the duke's head turned and his voice lost its indifference all of a sudden.

"Does that mean he's awake? Is he feeling better?"

His eyes glittered in the moonlight like pale gemstones and all George could think of for a moment was, _hell, it's such a waste._ However, he only shrugged as an answer. "We have a written order of His Majesty to…"

"If he's awake, I want to speak to him," Suffolk interrupted him impatiently.

"I'm afraid he doesn't want speak to Your Grace," George answered, intently watching the desperate look that crossed the duke's handsome face just for a moment until he had his features under control again. A small part of him actually sort of pitied Suffolk for his misfortune, but the bigger part felt satisfied because after all, that arrogant bastard had tried to harm his beloved sister and had caused her so much trouble in the past. He didn't need to know that the king was still in his feverish delirium and probably only remembered vaguely that he had signed the order to imprison Suffolk at all.

"He doesn't want to speak to you," he repeated, "but surely, my father could change his mind, putting in a good word for you and telling him that the incident with the queen was more some sort of misunderstanding than an actual attack… so that he would at least hear what you have to say to him."

A short, absolutely humourless laughter came over Suffolk's lips. "And why in all the world would your father want to do that?"

George shrugged. "He always wanted you as an ally, and it wouldn't be the first time he puts in a good word for you, would it? Actually, when my mind doesn't trick me, you were sort of allied until you decided to give our family the cold shoulder."

"You mean, until your lovely sister thought she had to remove me from court on a whim," Suffolk corrected him, voice dangerously soft.

"Anyway," George nervously wetted his lips, "I am sure I could convince my father to speak to the king on your behalf." Of course his father would never do this and he didn't intend to convince him at all, but Suffolk didn't have to know that as well.

"And what do you want for this?" the duke asked with raised eyebrows, audible disdain in his voice. George easily understood why his sister hated this man and all his smug behaviour so much, however, he wondered if she had never felt attracted to his charms. He hesitated for a moment, feeling utterly stupid, but on the other hand… he had nothing to lose and Suffolk everything, right?

"I want you to do for me what you did for the king."

It was out before he had the chance to rethink it. But ever since Anne had revealed that Charles Brandon was indeed King Henry's lover, the thought had been revolving around in George's head, how it would be to bed this gorgeous man that had turned all the ladies' heads at court and obviously even the king's so easily. He'd be dead and gone soon, so no one would ever know, and as far as his sister was concerned, the extra humiliation the duke would suffer when he realized that George had never intended to stick to his promise should make up for that, shouldn't it?

He could see Brandon tensing up and for a moment, he was staring at him in utter disbelief, before he averted his gaze once more.

"I should have known…" he muttered.

It was neither a yes nor a no, but George decided to take the risk and took another step forward, until he was next to Suffolk. He felt himself harden just due to the excitement of the situation and hell, _he just had nothing to lose._

"No one must ever know…"

His voice sounded hoarse in his own ears and when Suffolk looked up again, an expression in his eyes he could not really make any sense of, George just grabbed him by the shoulders, lightly pushing him back into the niche and claiming Suffolk's lips with his own. And for the first instant he was met with no resistance, felt the raspy stubble against his own skin, these inviting lips against his own… and the hand against his chest, violently pushing him back. He stumbled, trying to regain his balance and the next moment a fist hit his jaw with so much force that it sent him to the floor. He tasted blood in his mouth and looked up in panic at his aggressor, who was standing above him, a tall, dark shape in the moonlight, eyes glittering in utter fury while he wiped his mouth in disgust.

"Get out before I forget myself," Suffolk spat.

"You'll pay for this," George yelled but it sounded more like a sorry wail even in his own ears. Holding his jaw, he struggled to get back on his feet and back away at the same time. "I promise, you'll be so sorry for this…"

"Not half as sorry as you should be for your whole existence. Get out of my sight!"

It shouldn't be like this, the thought shot through George's head when he slowly backed away in direction of the door, still pressing his hand against his jaw which felt terribly numb. He was the queen's brother and this man was grounded for high treason and would go to the Tower. He shouldn't have to run away from him like a beaten dog, and yet he did. And, still feeling Suffolk's disdainful gaze on his back while he made his way through the door, mumbling something unintelligible to the guards before hastening away, he realized that he indeed had had something to lose by coming here. And he painfully knew that even if Suffolk would be dead and buried in the ground somewhere, the memory how this man had humiliated him would last far, far longer.

He was so occupied by the helpless anger and shame raging through his body that he didn't see the young, dark-haired woman in the pale yellowish dress until he almost ran into her. However, when he recognized her as one of his sister's ladies in waiting and saw the terrified expression on her face, all his troubled feelings went numb and icy for once.

"What has happened?" he barked at her, grabbing her by the wrist and not bothering about the fact that he unsettled her by his rudeness probably more than she was already. But even before he listened to her appalled stammering that contained little more than the words "Her Majesty" and "the baby" to know that something had gone terribly wrong.

* * *

His leg hurt terribly with every step that he took, but nevertheless, he didn't slow down, the pain only giving new fuel to the helpless anger and frustration burning inside of him. His dark mood was obviously clearly visible on his face, at least measured by the speed people hurried to make way for him and mumbled their respect. Henry didn't pay attention to any of them, however, nor to Anne's ladies in waiting who were staring of him in utter surprise when he stormed into the queen's lodgings without any announcement. They didn't expect him to be here and up already, after all, it was only one day after he had finally woken from his feverish sleep. But the devastating news he had been confronted with had left him no other choice than ignoring his physician's objections.

The intense smell of herbs in Anne's sleeping chamber that was meant to cover the stink of blood almost made Henry feel sick again, because it reminded him of the smell in his own chambers during the last few days. Or maybe it was just the view of Anne, cowering on her bed and crying soundlessly, that finally made him realize that it was indeed true, that she had again lost the child she was carrying.

"You've lost my boy."

Henry didn't even know if it was meant as an accusation or simply as a statement, but feeling too distressed to consider it in this moment.

She raised her head, her face pale and tear-stained; however, the sight didn't raise the slightest compassion in him.

"It was Suffolk," she whispered, her voice hoarse and almost breaking. "It's not my fault, it was all him. He attacked me and that's why… He killed him, Henry. He murdered our son!"

Henry had to close his eyes and harshly turned away from her, feeling that he was close to losing his poise. He hadn't wanted to believe it when he had first heard it, didn't want to believe it still, didn't even want to think about it, but he had to know. Had to know if it was actually true what people said, that Charles Brandon, his Charles, was responsible for this disaster and Anne was the only person who could tell him. It made him feel sick to deal with it and he had to suppress the urge the run away from these chambers and close himself away from the world into his own, never having to see either Charles or Anne ever again.

"I need to know what exactly has happened in that chapel," Henry asked bleakly, his voice trembling only slightly.

The question seemed to surprise her, since it took her a moment to answer. "He… he called me a whore and that… that the child might not be yours but his, which greatly upset me and…" her voice became more of a sob now, "he grabbed my arms so hard it hurt and he didn't let me go and I was so afraid and…"

"And what did you do?" Henry interrupted her, his eyes still fixed on the window where endless, dreary rain was hitting the glass.

"Me?" Another sob, more surprise. Henry had to suppress the sudden urge to shout at her to shut up but forced himself to remain calm.

"Yes, you. He probably didn't walk in and said all these things and attacked you while you stood there like a statue, did he?"

There was another pause, before she asked in disbelief, "Do you say that is was _my_ fault that _he_ attacked me?"

"I don't say anything," Henry hissed, sharper than he wanted to."I just want to know what _you _said and did."

"Nothing!" she yelled in sudden outrage. "I told him to leave me alone and I even tried to tell him about the baby, but he wouldn't care! He was just mad, that's all!"

_He wouldn't care… he said he doesn't care…_

Henry pressed his knuckles against his forehead as if to shut out a physical pain, but Anne's accusing voice seemed to cut through his mind like a knife.

"I told you, I told you so many times! I told you he hated me but you were so obsessed with him, you wouldn't listen! He has always tried to tear us apart, but you always let him back at court because you couldn't stand it to be away from him! You have no one but yourself to blame for this!"

_You'd never say that you don't care._

"I can't speak of it," Henry finally replied after a long break, desperately struggling for composure. "The loss is too great." He didn't even know whether he was talking about the child or Charles or anything else. "But I see now… that God will not grant me any male children. We will speak again when you're up."

And with these words he abruptly turned around, hurrying out of her chambers and trying to shut out her desperate howl behind his back as well as the single, nagging question in his head.

_Would you?_

_Don't know who to trust, no surprise  
Everyone feels so far away from me  
Heavy thoughts sift through dust  
And the lies_

_Trying not to break, but I'm so tired of this deceit  
Every time I try to make myself get back up on my feet  
All I ever think about is this, all the tiring time between  
And how trying to put my trust in you just takes so much out of me_

_I take everything from the inside and throw it all away  
'Cause I swear, for the last time  
I won't trust myself with you_

_~Linkin Park - From the Inside~_


	16. XVI Fortune's Favours

**Title:** Fortune's Favours  
**Pairing:** Charles Brandon / Henry Tudor  
**Rating: **R  
**Story Summary:** King Henry and his favorite duke get a little closer than best friends normally are, complicating matters even more than they are already. Covers season 1 & 2.

**Disclaimer:** The Tudors belong to Showtime, I have absolutely no claim on the characters, the storyline etc.

**A/N:** I know the Tudors are in many points not exactly what you'd call historically accurate, still, in this fanfiction I decided to go with the Showtime version to avoid confusions.  
Thanks to Narya86 for beta-reading.

So this is it - the final chapter,yay! I'm really curious what you say about how it all turns out. There will be a small epilogue which I'll post in a couple of days that gives the whole story its finishing touch so stay tuned!

**Chapter Summary:** Henry faces the final decision between his lover and his wife which turnsout to have deadly consequences...

**Chapter Warnings:** Major character death, angst,implied slash

_**XVI**_

_**Fortune's Favours**_

Cold, it was always cold in here. Shivering, Charles tried to wrap the thin blanket closer around himself in the desperate attempt to create more warmth, not even sure if the cold actually came from the chilly spring evening or rather had its source deep inside of him.

A couple of days must have passed since they had brought him here, though he hadn't paid attention to the rising and sinking of the sun outside of the small, barred window in the rough stone walls. It probably didn't matter anymore anyway. He was no fool, he knew that there were only few prisoners having walked out of the Tower again, and certainly none of those accused of a crime such as the one he was accused of. The morning they had come to his chambers to take him here, he had been told curtly that Queen Anne had had another miscarriage during the night and that it was King Henry's order that he'd be sent to the Tower. No word of Henry himself, but this was to be expected. Out of countless experiences, including his own, Charles knew that Henry always had an ear and a moment for those in his favour, but those who fell out of it suddenly found themselves facing an impenetrable barrier of those carrying out his orders mercilessly, without any chance to plead for mercy or to explain.

No, Henry wouldn't come and maybe it was for the best, since Charles wouldn't have known what to say to his former friend and lover. Because no matter how much one twisted and turned the issue – and he was pretty sure that the Boleyns had done exactly that – he had physically attacked the Queen of England which had resulted in her miscarrying the future heir to the throne. He knew that he had made a terrible mistake, that he had let himself be carried away, had even known it the moment the guards had pulled him away from her. However, there was no way to make that moment of lacking self-control undone. And he didn't know what it was that caused him the most pain, the fact that he might be responsible for the untimely death of Henry's heir and son, the thought of his own family and what he had done to them… or just the thought that he would probably never see Henry again to tell him how sorry he was.

He could vividly recall that moment in the pavilion after the accident, how overjoyed he had been when Henry finally, after hours of unconsciousness and anxious, fervent praying had finally opened his eyes and awoken with Charles' name on his lips. The duke could have embraced the whole world then, not knowing yet that fever and sickness would strike his king back to his sickbed and into unconsciousness again and that Henry, when he had finally woken up again, had to learn what he had done in the meantime.

Sighing, Charles let his head fall back against the stone wall next to the narrow pallet he was sitting on. He should probably try to sleep for a while, would even welcome sleep since it would mean he could forget about everything for a short, precious while. However, the revolving and nagging thoughts in his mind did not allow him to rest, nor did the cold or his growling stomach. He hadn't dared to touch any food after he had seen that brass rat dying on the stone floor after stealing from his supper. No, he wouldn't make it that easy for them.

Steps were resounding on the corridor in front of his cell, but Charles didn't really pay attention to them until he heard his door being unlocked. He raised his head, expecting to face Master Kingston who'd tell him about his trial or execution or whatever. But instead, Charles found himself facing the very man he had never expected to come here.

"Your Majesty…"

His voice sounded oddly raw, since he hadn't used it for the last few days, but he didn't notice, just stared at Henry, numbly wondering if he indeed started to hallucinate now. But there he was, still looking a little haggard from his illness and moving unusually stiffly, but apart from that, definitely Henry as he lived and breathed.

Both men stared at each other for a seemingly endless moment. Charles tried to read Henry's expression but it gave away nothing.

"Well?" Henry finally asked, his voice bleary.

"I don't know what to say," Charles replied softly, averting his gaze because he couldn't bear to look into those pale, cool eyes any more.

"How about ,I'm sorry?'"

"I would love to. But I'm not sure whether you want to hear it… or if there's any way I can possibly be sorry enough for what has happened."

A snort, though completely humourless. "Possibly not. But you're right, that's not what I want to hear, what I came for." Soft, yet awkward steps were approaching him. "I want to hear that what they told me never happened. I want to know you never did what you're being accused of!"

It was sort of ironic, Charles thought with a bitter smile, still not being able to look up at Henry. Usually you never got the chance to explain your actions to the king when he believed you had failed him, you just had to face your punishment and could only hope it wouldn't be something irreversible. And now that he actually got the chance to explain himself, he didn't know what to say to make the situation any better.

"I would love to as well," he therefore replied, "but neither do I know what they've told you nor if my version would really make a big difference."

Some more, painful seconds passed. "Well, it makes a difference to me."

Charles shrugged, a helpless gesture. There was some movement in the parts of his cell not being touched by the insufficient light from the small candle on the table. Maybe the rats returning, being attracted by the untouched food on the floor. "I went to the chapel to pray for your recovery and ran into her. She wanted me to leave, I refused. We were both upset and edgy, said a couple of bad things and things got out of control. That is it."

"Is it true you grabbed her by the arms, trying to drag her out of the chapel by force?"

"I remember grabbing her wrists, yes, because I wanted to prevent her from scratching my face. I don't remember what I wanted to do next, probably didn't even know then. I was upset and worried and tired, that's all I remember."

A deep, impatient sigh. "Some people say you wanted to abduct her, to secure control over the future king in case I should die. And some people even say you wanted her to miscarry because it would bring your own son closer to the crown."

Charles couldn't help but laugh softly about these absurd accusations, however, they didn't surprise him. "Well, of course some people would, wouldn't they?"

"You're not very helpful, you know that, Charles?"

Gently surprised, he finally raised his head again, just to find Henry staring down at him in rising frustration. "Helpful in what?"

"Saving your neck, maybe?" Henry asked sarcastically.

It was definitely not how Charles had expected this conversation to go, but he didn't want to allow that wild spark of hope to come to the fore, not yet. "Why would you want to do that?"

"Because…" Henry took a deep breath, turning away from him and running and a hand through his hair, before he slammed it onto the small wooden table in frustration. "Because I don't _want_ you to die, for Christ's sake!"

Somehow, something in his stomach seemed to make an odd little bounce at these words, yet Charles remained careful. "Your boy is lost and it might be my fault."

"My boy," Henry laughed bitterly, staring against the wall. "My boy that maybe wasn't even mine. The one I could have never looked at without knowing for sure whether he is my blood or yours. Maybe it's better what has happened."

"You don't mean that," Charles said quietly.

"Don't I?" Henry asked mockingly. "Shall I tell you something about meaning, Charles? I don't know what I mean and what I don't anymore. Everything at this court is so tangled and horribly wrong. Everyone has his hidden agenda, his schemes which he tries to hide behind a smiling face and this whole filth disgusts me more than I can possibly say. And no matter how hard I try to do what is right, everything just gets more tangled and wrong to the point that I just can't tell what is _right_ anymore." And only when Charles didn't answer, he fiercely turned back towards him, grabbing him by the shoulders. "What do you think I should do? With my wife who failed to give me any male heir, with my daughter who is considered to be a bastard in the eyes of the world and with my duke and lover, who stands accused for high treason? What should I do Charles, _how in all the world can I make this mess right?"_

"I don't know, Henry", the duke whispered, trying his best to hold Henry's gaze even though it seemed to burn through his skin and down to his inner core. "I wish I knew, but I don't. All I can do is assure you a thousand times that I never wanted any of this to happen, never intended to harm your son and never, in my whole life, wished to see you in so much pain. But still it happened, and what difference will my assurances make in the eyes of the law, what are they other than the lame excuses of a guilty villain and attempted usurper?"

Henry's eyes were glittering in the candlelight like two pale gemstones as he seemed to consider what Charles had said, not letting go of him, though. The closeness between them felt unbearable, almost painful, until Henry eventually spoke.

"Well, as I said, it makes a difference to me."

And with these words, he locked Charles' lips in a fierce, bruising kiss the duke had no chance but submit to. There was no forgiveness in that kiss, no tenderness, just despair, fury and somewhere deep underneath a promise he didn't understand but which scared him nevertheless. A sudden feeling of giddiness overcame Charles, due to his lack of food and the intensity of the kiss, and for a moment he thought he was just going to faint. But then Henry suddenly let go of him, leaving his lips hot and burning and black stains dancing in front of his eyes. He was still struggling for breath when he heard Henry whispering something into his ear, before he quickly stood up and hurried towards the door. By the time Charles had finally recovered, he was already gone and Charles could only hear his steps on the corridor, slowly fading. The only proof he had been here at all was the burning feeling on Charles' lips and his last words, still echoing in his ears.

_And you shouldn't forget, being the king means I am the law._

Sighing, Charles let his head fall back against the wall. He supposed he should feel better by this, but somehow he didn't.

Somehow he knew the worst was still to come.

* * *

The presence chamber was gloomy still, since the dim light of the grey spring morning was not enough to illuminate it sufficiently. However, it fitted Henry's mood just perfectly when he looked into the faces of the Privy Council members, each of them serious, the curiosity why he had summoned them so early that day carefully hidden. Well, he wouldn't keep them waiting for too long, still he took a small moment to scrutinize every face. He had them standing, since it was only a short announcement he wanted to make and he didn't want to be reminded of the fact that one chair would be painfully empty. Not more than he was anyway, since he could feel the absence of the man who used to hold that chair almost physically.

"Mylords, this kingdom is in peril and in danger," he finally began without further ado. "But not by some other power or strangers with evil intend against us. It has come to my noses that some acts of treason and other offenses have been committed by those we loved and trusted: By members of our own court."

His eyes flickered to the face of Thomas Boleyn for an instant and he thought to see an expression of satisfaction on the old man's face. Of course, he had to think Henry was speaking about the Duke of Suffolk, being arrested in the Tower for suspicion of high treason. As probably everyone else in this room did.

Good, they should think whatever they wanted. It would make everything so much easier.

"Mr. Rich," Henry continued, his voice cool and determined, "as Solicitor General, I am appointing you and Mr. Cromwell to head a commission of oyer and terminer to investigate whether or not these offenses are true."

The two men bowed respectfully and when they raised their heads again, Henry's gaze looked with those of his secretary for a short instant. Thomas Cromwell was probably the only person in this room who understood the true purpose of Henry's order – or if not the true purpose than at least what it was they should investigate on. He had spoken to him in the privacy of his study the night before, just after he had returned from his visit in the Tower.

_It's true what they have whispered. I shut my ears to them and now I know it to be true. I made this marriage seduced by witchcraft and for that reason consider it to be null and void. And the evidence is that God will not permit us male issue. So now I believe with all my heart… that I will take another wife._

He was almost surprised by how calm he felt now, once the decision had been made. Even though he wasn't sure at all what would happen now, the decision had been made and the outcome was out of his hands now. Cromwell was a smart and a capable man, and surely there was something they would find. There was always something, Henry knew that far too well from his experience with his first marriage.

And if there was no plaintiff any more, there didn't have to be a judge, right?

A small smile crossed Henry's lips. Maybe by undoing all things that he had done wrong he could finally make things right and if he couldn't, hell, than he could at least do whatever suited him best.

"Good day, gentlemen."

* * *

"Charles…! My God…"

The book fell out of slender hands to the floor and before he had even the chance to do or say anything she already rushed up him as fast as she could in her current state and threw her hands around him in a rather unladylike, yet the more affectionate gesture.

"Shhh… sweetheart… Catherine, calm down" he muttered, gently caressing her back and hair and unable to ban the fierce joy from his voice. He had expected to never see this wonderful woman again, had felt worried and ashamed to bring so much sorrow upon her and leaving her as a widow even though she had barely turned twenty, carrying a traitor's child. And yet here they were standing, in the entrance of their London townhouse, his wonderful wife back in his arms, bearing no anger towards him, only relief about his return… it was too good to be true.

"They told me," she whispered, "they told me you'd been released, you'd come back, but I couldn't believe it… I can't believe it still…"

"It's alright, Catherine. Everything is going to be alright now." If only Charles could have believed his own words, but he pushed the thought back as he gently raised her chin and kissed the tears from her cheeks. Putting his hands on her growing belly, his lips finally touched hers in a gentle, tender kiss. "I'm so sorry for causing you and little Henry so much worry, especially since you're with child…"

"Don't you worry, Charles… I am well and so is the baby." Catherine's voice was fond, but then disdain crept into it and her dark eyes flashed up in sudden anger. "It wasn't your fault, though! It was that horrible woman and her schemes and lies that made you suffer. How good she will finally get what she deserves and the whole world can see what a shameless whore she is!"

"Yes, how good," Charles muttered, the uneasy feeling in his stomach coming up once more. It had been there since he had learned that Queen Anne Boleyn had been found guilty of adultery and high treason and had been brought to the Tower. As a consequence, all the accusations against his person had obviously been dropped on the king's order, or at least that was what Secretary Cromwell had told him curtly this afternoon. At first, the surprise and joy about being released from imprisonment and able to return to his family had outweighed his concerns, but now they finally came back.

"I have to ride to Whitehall, sweetheart," he told Catherine. "It seems the king wants to see me as quickly as possible… I just had to see you first."

It was the truth, and actually, he would have preferred to stay here in London with his family, where the world was still in order instead of at court these days. However, Henry would need his support in these hours, and there were still a lot of questions that demanded an answer. "Of course, if the king commands it, you must," Catherine nodded, though he could see the disappointment hidden in her eyes.

"I'll return as soon as possible," he promised, though knowing Henry, he did not know when this would be the case tonight. Still, he pulled his wife into his arms once more, pressing another kiss onto her lips and laughing gently when she grimaced a little.

"You should take a bath and change your clothes before you attend upon the king, Charles!"

She was right, he still smelled of endless days of imprisonment, and so he took some time to clean up and change into fresh attire until he finally left again for Whitehall. The day was cool and cloudy for May, but he breathed in the fresh air greedily as he'd never done before in his life. If he'd had the choice, he probably would have headed for the endless green hills and woods outside of London, just to enjoy a wild gallop over the meadows and celebrate his regained freedom. But unfortunately, this freedom wasn't reaching that far.

By the time he arrived at the palace, it was beginning to turn darker outside already, yet there was no music, no festivities going on in the palace. The halls and floors were almost empty as he crossed them and the few persons he met tried to avoid his gaze, fear and uncertainty openly visible in all faces. There had been a lot of arrests in the recent days, people vanishing from one instant to the other and no one knew whether he would be next and when all of this would be over.

Since his arrival was expected, he was led directly into Henry's study, where Charles found his king sitting in an armchair by the fireplace, watching the moving flames and not even turning when he entered. Unsure what Henry expected him to do, he remained standing by the door for a few uncomfortable moments, until a crooked finger told him to come over to the fireplace. And Charles followed the order without thinking, despite the growing uncomfortable feeling in his stomach. Henry looked exhausted and there was something unsteady flickering in the depth of his eyes while he examined him closely for another while.

"Are you well?" he finally asked.

"Yes, Majesty."

"You look wasted," Henry shook his head. "I had given the order to give you better food while you were still imprisoned since Master Kingston told me you refused everything. Did he not follow my commands?"

"He did, Majesty, but it was not the quality of the food that made me refuse it. Not all the guards in the Tower are as trustworthy as Master Kingston."

"You were concerned that your food was poisoned?" Henry asked, surprised, but then snorted bitterly. "Well, in these days, such a thing does not seem unlikely, though."

Charles could have told him about the dead rats, however, there was no need to add fuel to the smouldering fire inside of his friend. And so he just remained quiet until Henry finally stood up stiffly and gestured him with a nod of his head to sit down in the chair he had been sitting on while he slowly walked over to the fireplace. The usual agility from his movements was gone and he walked like an old man, limping and with visible strain. Involuntary, Charles wondered whether he would ever be the same man as before his accident, but he strongly doubted it. Too much had happened since then and Henry had taken too many injuries, physical ones as well as others, more severe ones that would mark him with scars for the rest of his life.

"There were rumours about her behaviour, you know," he began, his voice flat and without audible emotion. "That she entertains men in her room at night, flirts and behaves intimately with them…"

Of course there were, there had always been rumours, from the moment court had begun to notice the young woman and the king's interest in her. Charles had once tried to tell his king about them as well, but he had not only met deaf ears but it had also brought him a banishment from court. However, there was no way he would mention this now.

"We had them investigated," Henry continued, idly pushing around the poker in the fireplace. "Everything turned out to be true." A short, humourless laughter came over his lips. "But to be honest, I should rather say they weren't, because the truth is even worse than the rumours! They were right under my very nose, Charles, men that I trusted and welcomed at court with open arms. Smeaton, Bereton, Norris, George Boleyn… all found guilty and ought to be executed tomorrow. But that's not all… that's not all, Charles. You know what Cromwell told me? He told me that she'd had to do with over a hundred men." Another short laugh came over his lips, the poker fell to the floor and the next words were more like a painful, unbelieving sob. "A hundred fucking men, Charles!"

He did not know what to do, what to say. One part of him wanted to comfort his lover and friend and take him in his arms, while the other part just felt sick and was frozen with horror, not allowing him any movement. Of course Cromwell and all the others would have told Henry what he wanted to hear, would gladly find something to justify his wish to get rid of his current wife. It had been the same when Henry had tried to get rid of Katherine, and certainly there would be some incriminated evidence for something – especially when it was about a woman like Anne Boleyn. But what really shocked Charles was the fact that Henry didn't even realize that it had been him who had set these chains of events into motion – that people just told him what he had doubtlessly encouraged them to find out. But his friend obviously hadn't finished with his accusations and evidences, one more unbelievable than the last one.

"You know what?" Standing up, Henry ran a hand over his eyes before he returned to Charles, his voice rising as he was unable to ban anger and hatred from it. "You know what, my daughter Mary owes God a great deal for escaping the hands of that poisoning whore! Oh, she had also planned to have her poisoned, Charles, it is true. Just like she poisoned Katherine."

Charles nervously licked his lips, struggling with himself whether he should say something, but Henry didn't give him the chance anyway.

"We have proof. On her baby. Her baby was deformed, did you know that, Charles? So how could it have been mine!" He yelled the last words at him and Charles almost flinched back, a hot feeling of guilt rushing through his stomach. However, Henry obviously didn't intend to blame him for anything, as he continued, his composure visibly crumbling by now, "Perhaps Elizabeth isn't even mine…"

For a few moments he struggled with the rest of his self-control, his voice trembling and unable to fight back the upcoming tears, until it finally broke.

"That fucking bitch!"

The agony in that simple outcry just broke Charles' heart, as well as the view of Henry cowering at his feet, sobbing and crying in visible pain, and he couldn't refrain from reaching out to him and soothingly running a hand through his friend's dark hair. A shiver ran through the king's whole body and then, forcefully, he grabbed Charles' wrist, pressing his lips against the sensitive skin.

"I lost so many which were close to me because of her," he whispered. "Good people, like Wolsey… Thomas… Katherine… and now almost you! God, Charles, you can't believe how glad I am that you're still here, with me, and not buried and dead like all the others due to her schemes…"

Henry's words sent the familiar tingle through his stomach and a part of him felt strangely touched by them, while another one was utterly disgusted. He wanted to grab Henry by his shoulders, shake him and yell at him that he shouldn't fall for his own schemes, that he was about to condemn his wife to death for the fact that she didn't give him a male heir and because it suited him better that she died than Charles.

But he didn't, of course he didn't do it. How could he bite the hand that had just saved his life? And even if he did, Henry wouldn't have believed him anyway. He had made his decision and chose to see the woman he had been so in love with once as the incarnation of female wickedness and there was nothing in the world that would make him change his mind again.

_And wasn't that what you always wanted?_

Charles shook his head to get rid of his bad conscience and the guilt running through his body. True, he had always tried to make Anne appear in a bad light and had enviously competed with her for Henry's favour, but he certainly hadn't wanted this, not like that. Or had he?

"Charles… please tell me it's going to be alright," he heard Henry again, pure despair in the pale eyes. "Please tell me, I need to hear it…"

"It will be," Charles reassured him, gently cradling and caressing his lover's face in his hands. "I am still here and soon you will be free to remarry whoever you choose, maybe Jane Seymour… She is a virtuous woman and she will give you a son and these dark times will be nothing more but a bad nightmare of the past…"

Again he wished he could have believed in his own words. But still, they seemed to calm Henry down, the madness slowly waning from his eyes and giving way to a more thoughtful expression as he rested his head against Charles' knees, closing his eyes for a moment.

"Yes, she is indeed. And I guess I will have to take another wife, since this is what the world will expect of me and you know best that I need an heir much, much more urgent than ever. However…" he looked up at Charles and as he continued speaking, his voice was determined, "I swear to you that never again in my life I will ever put a woman above you, no matter how beautiful she is."

It was odd. These were the words he had longed to hear from Henry for so many years, but now that they were finally spoken, he couldn't help but wonder how many promises of that kind Anne must have heard from Henry just a few years ago.

He tried to think of an answer to this, but Henry didn't seem to expect one. Crouching up towards Charles, the duke felt gentle hands encircling his face and then his lips were captured in a soft, yet intense kiss he couldn't help but give in to. No, whatever Henry did, how cruel or thoughtless it may be, Charles knew he would still love him, and this bittersweet realisation was as painful as it was comforting.

"Stay with me tonight," Henry whispered against his lips. "I want you close to me…"

This time, he didn't have to think for a second to answer.

"I will."

* * *

Fortune's Wheel goes up and down…

Maybe it were all the horrors of the past days and weeks that finally let her become numb, unable to feel any more fear, maybe it were her deep prayers actually filling her heart with comfort or maybe it was only relief that eventually, finally, all this was going to be over at last. No more schemes, no more uncertainties, no more unknown fears. Nothing more to achieve, no expectations, nothing more to do except for one very simple thing.

Whatever it was, at the end of it all, she finally found calm.

Sunlight in her eyes, harsh and blinding after the gloom of the Tower cell, people shouting her name and other things, trying to touch her when she made her way through the crowd, the silent crying of her ladies… she noticed everything, but she didn't really care anymore. It was as if her senses had been sharpened, yet she felt already oddly detached from this world, a world that had brought her nothing but disappointment, pain and loneliness in the end. But it would all end today and eventually, she was almost glad about it.

_Good Christian people, I've come here to die…_

As she spoke, the crowd was falling silent one by one, listening to her words and she idly wondered whether they actually believed in the accusations against her, though it really didn't matter anymore to her. Her eyes fell on the face of a very young boy with curly reddish brown hair who looked up at her in curious fascination, then stayed for a moment on the face of his father standing behind him, his face blank of any emotion.

She had hated him for years and indeed, how little would have been necessary to have their roles reversed, so that he and not she stood here today, preparing to die. Still, she couldn't blame him, felt neither envy nor hatred anymore. They had always seen each other as opponents, enviously competing for the same, and had been so alike all of the time, both being drawn to the flame and playing with fire while struggling not to burn. And it was just by mere chance, or maybe also Fortune's favours, if one believed in such a thing, that it was her that had come too close first.

No, she couldn't hate him anymore. If anything, there was a little, fleeting sense of pity and sadness as she wondered for a moment whether he understood.

_And thus I take my leave of the world and of you all, and I heartily desire you all to pray for me…_

_The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures, he leadeth me beside the still waters…_

At the edge of her awareness she noticed the people kneeling down, as she did, one after the had been said, all had been done. Nothing left to do, not on this earth, except for leaving it. It was almost too simple.

_Oh Lord, have mercy on my soul, to Christ I commend my soul…_

Their eyes met, just for the split of a second and for a last time, but from that tiniest of all moments, she knew that he understood.

And once again, Fortune's Wheel was turning.

_It's all about power then, about taking control  
Breaking the will and breaking the soul  
They suck us dry till there's nothing left  
My oh my, my oh my__**  
**__  
You keep watching from your picket fence  
You keep talking, but it makes no sense  
You say we're not responsible, but we are, we are  
You wash your hands and come out clean  
You fail to recognise the enemies within  
You say we're not responsible  
But we are, we are_

_~ Ana Johnson – We are~  
_


	17. Epilogue: One Thing

**Title:** Fortune's Favours  
**Pairing:** Charles Brandon / Henry Tudor  
**Rating: **R  
**Story Summary:** King Henry and his favorite duke get a little closer than best friends normally are, complicating matters even more than they are already. Covers season 1 & 2.

**Disclaimer:** The Tudors belong to Showtime, I have absolutely no claim on the characters, the storyline etc.

**A/N:** I know the Tudors are in many points not exactly what you'd call historically accurate, still, in this fanfiction I decided to go with the Showtime version to avoid confusions.

**Special Thanks to: **

First, I'd like to thank all of my dear readers - you guys who have who have always kept me writing and commented on my chapters. I cannot nearly express what such a lovely support means to a writer, how I squealed with joy about each of your comments I read. And I met a lot of lovely Tudor-addicts while writing this and made a couple of awesome friends. And it is definitely no understatement when I say that the fact that I actually finished Fortune's Favours, is actually thanks to you and your constant support. Thank you so much, it was a pleasure!

A very special Thank You goes to Narya86 and Bunnster. Even though not being a 100% Tudor addict, Narya has read all of my scenes immediately after they were written and encouraged me whenever I felt unsure about a certain scene or a development in my story, as well as beta-read almost all chapters while coping with my nagging questions about "is not ready yet?". Thank you for that, honey! Bunnster (which I also got to know during the course of writing this story) had been a constant source of inspiration and we've chatted for hours philosophing about the relationship of Henry and Charles and coming up for ideas for each other's storys. Moreover, she has always been my "living history book" about everything Tudor as well as also beta-read a couple of chapters. Thank you so much, I hope we manage to meet in person when I'm back as well!

One last thing: A couple of people have asked me whether I'll write another Tudor or Charles/Henry story. However,I'm afraid to say I cannot answer this at this point. In three days, I will pick up my backpack to go and travel Australia and New Zealand for another two months, so I will have rather limited Internet connection again and definitely no time for writing. Afterwards, it just depends on what I feel like. I would love to continue working on some other,older projects who deserve some attention. I also had some vague ideas for 1-2 other Tudor stories, but nothing concrete, so at this point, I don't want to promise anything.

Okay, so I guess I should prattling now and let you enjoy the last bit of Fortune's Favours. Here it is:

_**Epilogue**_

_**One Thing**_

_The horrified screams were still echoing in my ears, even though they had fallen silent long ago. Now there was a dead silence, in the literal sense of the words, the only sounds being the small creaking when the wind moved one of the bodies hanging limply from the quickly erected gallows. Dozens, hundreds of lifeless corpses, as far as the eye could see, men, women, even children. The sight alone was enough to make one's stomach churn, but the fact that I knew I had given the order for all these deaths, this mindless slaughter... it was more than I could bare._

_Father, forgive me my trespassing against your flock..._

_Glassy eyes, bare of any life, seemed to stare at me, accusingly, as I wandered aimlessly through the rows, disgusted of this place yet unable to turn away and just leave. It was their fault, I tried to tell myself over and over again, they chose to rebel against their king and disobey his commands. But when I looked into the pale face and the dead eyes of a boy my own son's age, I knew this was just a lame excuse. _

"_I'm so sorry," I whispered quietly to the boy. "I didn't want this to happen but I had no choice!"_

"_Of course you had a choice, liar!"_

_I flinched, turning round, the hand at the hilt of my sword, just to face another body hanging from one of the other gallows, a young woman in an elegant, pigeon blue dress and a white coif. A pair of pale blue eyes, glassy and dead as the others, yet watching me with visible mockery._

"_You always had the choice," Anne repeated disdainfully, eying down on me, her head tilted in a sickening angle, "but you chose to do what he wanted in the end, because you were so anxious you might lose him this time, as so many times before."_

"_Just as you did?" I asked, slowly retreating and terror creeping through every fibre of my body._

_A short laughter, without any trace of humour. "Yes, as I did. Just that I never had the choice, I couldn't give him what he wanted. And one day, you'll fail him as well and who knows what he'll do then?"_

_Her arm came up in a strangely stiff motion and she loosened the rope around her neck, her body limply falling down to the ground. For a few seconds she remained like that and then her body began to move again, crawling over towards me in horribly edgy movements. Around her neck, there was a thin red line running like a necklace, the spot where her head had been cut off one year ago. The dead eyes gleamed in malicious joy when I backed away, repulsed and horrified, but unable to run since it felt as if the air had suddenly turned into a viscous mass not allowing me to move any faster._

"_How does it feel to be a murderer, Your Grace?" she whispered mockingly. "To know you slaughtered hundreds of men, women and children just to keep him satisfied... a man that is so self-obsessed by now that he will never be satisfied and never wastes a thought on what those close to him feel or think? Do you really think he loves you nearly as much as you do love him?"_

"_Shut up," I yelled at her, though backing further away. "You have no idea, you are dead!"_

"_Oh, I'm not," she corrected me softly. "Anne is dead, but your guilty conscience lives on until the day you die and until that day, I'll be in your dreams, every night when you close your eyes." She threw back her head, laughing, a shrill sound that sent an ice-cold shiver down my spine. "You expected to go to hell after you die, Charles Brandon? Far wrong... because hell is right here!"_

_And then I saw them coming. Hundreds of bodies, slowly coming down from their gallows and slowly crouching up towards me with the same sickening wrong motions, staring at me accusingly and reaching out for me. I wanted to run, but there was nowhere I could run since they came from everywhere and icy terror was stunning me. Ice-cold hands were reaching out for me, grabbing my clothes, pulling me down and I could do nothing to fight them off._

_It was then that I started to scream._

I woke up by the sound of my own, desperate gasp, finding myself sitting straight in bed before I even realized what was going on. Still I felt the touch of the icy, dead hands all over my body and shivered violently, for the first moments unable to shake off the reminders of the horrible dream. The dream that now had haunted me for a couple of nights, in countless variations. And the most horrible thing about it was that it was not just a dream. The lifeless eyes, the dead children, the gallows, all this had actually happened and the sheer reminder of it turned my stomach upside down.

Listening to the sound of my own rapid breathing that seemed to calm down only slowly, I let my eyes wander through the quiet bedchamber which was lit only by the silvery moonshine falling through the windows and the glowing embers in the fireplace. A peaceful sight, and a harsh contrast to the unspeakable horrors of my dream, the horrors that had been ordered by the man now sleeping calmly next to me. Henry was lying on his back, his limbs sprawled on the sheets and a small smile was playing around the corners of his mouth. For a moment I wondered what he was dreaming of, but then I wasn't sure if I really wanted to know.

A chill ran down my back and I realized I was covered in sweat, an uneasy reminder of the horrible nightmare. The best thing would probably just to crawl back under the blankets but I was pretty sure I wouldn't be able to sleep again for quite some time, because when I closed my eyes I would see their lifeless faces and the glittering mockery in her eyes again. And so I prepared to get up instead, but I had hardly made it out of bed when a hand grabbed my wrist. I flinched heavily, the memory of the dead hands grasping at my body still vivid in my mind.

_Walk out the door, your eyes filled with tears  
Or stay and confront me and face all your fears  
Linger in silence, neither distant or near  
It's not going to change a thing_

"Where are you going," Henry complained sleepily, "stay here, it's cold."

"I couldn't sleep," I replied, "and I should go before the morning anyway so..."

An unwilling growl interrupted me. "It's in the middle of the fucking night, Charles... there's still plenty of time for you to leave in the morning."

A weak smile crossed my lips at these words. "That would go down in history as the first morning I ever spent with you where you just let me _leave_."

Henry chuckled, still drowsily. "Can you blame me? You've been away for such a long time..." Gently, yet determined he pulled me back onto the sheets, crawling up to me and trapping my body with his own. One hand caressed my shoulder, the other one my face and I sighed softly when his voice whispered in my ear. "I missed you, darling duke. Do you know that?"

Though the uncomfortable feeling in my stomach remained, the dream still present in my mind, my resistance just melt away by the warm body pressing against mine and the so familiar scent that was Henry. Yes, I'd missed this scent and I'd missed the man as well – my Henry, not Henry the King. Even though these two men had become so entangled in recent years that it was hard to separate them these days. My hands found his sides, gently exploring the so familiar body, even though I already knew every muscle, every sensitive spot. Sometimes I thought I knew his body better than I'd ever know what was going on his mind.

"It was you who sent me away..."

_Lay down beside me and question my faith  
Or hold me with all the love we have made  
Share all your secrets, or hide them away  
It's not going to change a thing_

"I know," a small kiss was pressed onto my jaw, "and you did so well, my knight. I couldn't have sent anybody else for this."

Again the image of the hundreds of gallows with the dead bodies appeared before my eyes and I felt the sickness returning. Why was he praising me now, while he had before my last journey to the North accused me of being too soft with the rebels, implying that my own judgment was clouded by still being a papist at heart? Or had he actually never said it, was this just the way that bastard Cromwell, who had his fingers in everything these days, had put it to make me return and conduct the terrible example they had expected me to? I hadn't had any chance to ask Henry then and even though I could have done it now, I refrained from it, too afraid of the answer he might give me.

He obviously didn't notice me being distracted, or he was just too busy with caressing my neck, ear and jaw with small bites and kisses and muttering sweet little cajolements and obscenities into my ear. "My duke, my knight in shining armour… you looked so dashing in that, you know? I bet you've stunned these peasants in the North just by your mere sight… the men being intimidated and the women all getting soaking wet under her skirts, hoping you'll chose one of them and fuck her right behind some dirty shed or something." A soft laughter tickled in my ear. "What do you think they'd have done if they knew their lewd king down in London would hardly leave his duke enough time to get out of his shining armour when he returned, to ravish him like there was no tomorrow? Would probably not be very helpful in putting down the rebellion, would it?"

"I don't think so," I replied with a half-hearted laugh. Right now the people in the North were rebelling against the crown because of the destruction of the monasteries and their religion, still, most of them did not blame Henry but his counsellors, like Cromwell. However, if it ever became public that the King of England was a sodomite, spitting on God's laws with his very acts… I didn't want to even think of the horrible consequences.

His fingertips ghosted deeper, caressing my thighs, my stomach and even though my thoughts were still running wild, my body reacted to the caresses as usual. It had just been too long and now it insistently craved its right. He obviously had something similar in his mind, however, his next question went in a direction that put me on alert.

"How is your sweet, little wife, by the way?"

"She's well," I answered warily. I didn't want to think about Catherine now, since my marriage was another thing that had given me some worries during the last few weeks. Besides, I had a bad feeling where this question was heading.

"I think she should come with you to court soon. That way, I can have you close without keeping you away from your family duties and besides…" one hand sliding unexpectedly between my legs drew a gasp from my lips, "I'm missing female company in my bed, and the three of us had so much fun together last time, don't you remember?"

_Well, you did, _the correct answer would be, _but you didn't have to deal with the consequences afterwards._ Catherine had sworn after that night that she never wanted to return to court again and I knew that in her heart, she blamed me for letting that night happen, as well as she blamed me for slaughtering the rebels – probably both not without reason. No, it was really no understatement to say that our marriage was not at its best and Henry was not innocent in this.

_Lie here and talk of whatever you want  
Or dare to compare all the things we've done wrong  
What care the world when we're all dead and gone  
It's not going to change a thing_

"I'll talk to her," I muttered, hoping that he would just forget the issue once Jane had delivered and he could satisfy his need for female company elsewhere. In the meantime, I'd probably have to come up with some excuses about Catherine being unwell, but I really didn't want to think about this now. Unfortunately, Henry was surprisingly attentive this night, considering his lusty state.

"Everything alright, Charles? Have you lost your tongue?"

_No, I haven't, Henry, but thanks for asking, because actually nothing is alright. I'm having horrible nightmares every night about countless bodies you made me slaughter while you sat back in London, getting excited over the upcoming birth of your son. You made me a murderer, Henry, and destroyed my sanity as well as my marriage by making me do this – this and the fact that you couldn't keep your hands of my wife, which is why she hates you now as much as she probably hates me. And I gave it all up willingly, did whatever you wanted because I was so afraid and I'm still afraid to lose the one thing that means the world to me, which is your love…_

"I had a terrible nightmare just before you woke up, Henry. I'm sorry."

"A nightmare?" The teasing hands were back, caressing, arousing and then there were lips on mine, so gentle and comforting and I swore to myself, if he asked me now, I'd tell him, tell him everything about the countless bodies hanging down from the gallows and haunting me, about Anne with the red circle around her neck crawling up to me and mocking me…

"Well, let's make you forget about it, shall we?"

_The picture is painted, the colours are bold  
One for each season of life, I suppose  
It no longer matters, the story is told  
It's not going to change a thing_

His lips crushing mine, now more passionate, freed me of the need to answer this. And even though there was a tiny sting of disappointment, I chased the feeling away and tried not to think anymore, about nothing but his body moving over mine, his hands entangled in my hair, my hands clutching his shoulders, our limbs entwining, moving in and together in a so familiar, comforting rhythm. It wouldn't keep the thoughts and dreams away for long, but for the moment it did and I was grateful for that.

And maybe it was better that I didn't tell him, for it wouldn't have changed a thing anyway.

It never would.

_It's not going to change one thing._

_~ Runrig – One Thing ~_


End file.
